


For a Cup of Tea

by Amandyalmonds



Series: A Cup of Tea [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Countdowns, Hallucinations, John is a Saint, M/M, Paranoia, Serial killers are always fun, Slow Build, Sometime During Season Two, casefic, seriously he is a great friend, you'd think there'd be more tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 67,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amandyalmonds/pseuds/Amandyalmonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Sherlock went to sit down in their spot at the cafe. He found a woman instead, sipping tea as if she hadn't taken their spot.</p><p>He never expected to see her again, until she showed up at his flat days later, asking for help.</p><p>And then, the countdown began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Always Something

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

The sudden onslaught of rain had taken me by surprise.  I hadn't brought an umbrella with me when I went out this morning, and the rain showed no signs of letting up as I stared out the window of some cafe in the middle of my morning route. The tea in front of me was still too hot to drink, and I restlessly stirred it with my spoon, wishing that it wasn't going to be bitter and that I had some honey to put in it.  The milk that'd been offered sat untouched, and I felt like I shouldn't cause a fuss about asking for honey.  In fact, I would probably get a confused stare from the waiter if I even asked.

 No, that wasn't going to be an option.

The door to the little cafe chimed as another patron came in from this torrent of rain.  I glanced up for a second, taking in a tall man with a long coat, raindrops sticking to his curls, before I turned my eyes away. 

Staring for too long was not something I could do.  Staring called attention to yourself. Made people anxious.  Made people question your actions. 

I went back to stirring my steaming tea unenthusiastically, vaguely wondering if it was cool enough to drink now -if I even wanted to drink it- when I realized the man that had just walked inside hadn't moved from where he was standing.  I could see out of the corner of my eye that he hadn't.  I also hadn't heard the sound of his coat shifting or his shoes on the floor, making that odd wet-shoe-squeak sound from the rainwater.  He wasn't staring at me, was he?

Of course not. Why would he be?  I was just a random woman in a random cafe, looking out the window and obviously alone.

I certainly wasn't watching him from the corner of my eye. Normal women don't do that.

But I can't say I'm normal. 

So when the man continued to just stand there, slightly out of view, unmoving in the little cafe that was full of movement, I couldn't help but think he was staring at me.  Irrational, I chastised myself.  Completely and utterly irrational. 

That didn't stop me from suddenly controlling my breathing to keep it even.  Didn't stop me from thinking of at least three different ways to get out of plausible situations if that man decided to come towards me or cause a scene.

I forced myself to take the corner of my eyes off him and keep my ears trained on him instead as I blatantly stared at the window.  See? I'm not paying attention to you.  Nothing to see here.  I'm waiting for someone.  A glance at my watch to help solidify that notion before adding a small sigh and another glance out the window.  I'm just slightly annoyed.  Obviously waiting on someone.  That's why I glanced up, just to see if you were who I was waiting for.

But you're not. So of course I'm not paying attention to you anymore.  Not at all.

But in fact I am.  Of course I am.

So I notice when I can hear the swish of your jacket moving as you finally decide to move.  Your strides are sharp, posture firm in the way you walk.  I can hear it through the movements of your jacket and the squeak of your shoes.

I can also hear that you're getting closer to the table where I sit.  I unconsciously hold my breath, forcing myself not to look at you.  The table behind me is empty.  You're going to go sit there, of course.  Yes.  Obviously.

But then suddenly you're too close -so close-, sliding into the seat across from me, forcing me to look at you, my body stiffening as my mind rotates through those escape plans I figured out a minute ago.

"Calm down. It's not like I'm going to do anything to you." The man tersely said as he folded his hands together on the table.  Sharp cheekbones, sharp clothing and hair, this man was everything that word was and more.  His eyes -grey-blue, uncommon coloring- glanced at me, looking at me in a way I would rather not have a strange man do.  The look was calculative, a mirror of the look I was probably giving him, though my own expression was mixed with a small bit of defiance.

I didn't know how to respond to his words.  I realized that after I noticed I had left too much space between his question.  I should have responded by now.  Should have said something, or got up and left in annoyance or disgust.  Or maybe even fear. 

But instead I just sat there, leaving the silence go too long.  Now I couldn't say anything.  Time stretched out as I stopped my eyes from taking him in and just stared at his face.  I sat up straighter, waiting for his eyes to stop glancing over me and to look back at my face. 

It took longer than I would've hoped.

"Not going to say anything?" The man asked, the question not quite reaching his eyes, though something else was.  Curiosity? No. But maybe...?

"I'm not exactly sure what you want me to say to a man who decided to just sit with me out of the blue." I retorted, remembering to keep my voice steady and level.  Show no fear, no wavering in my actions. 

Oh right. I'm waiting for someone, aren't I? 

I let my eyes flick down for a second to the watch on my wrist before flicking outside to the window.  Obviously I'm waiting and nervous now that a strange man has suddenly decided to sit with me.  I was waiting for someone.  I should ask you to leave, shouldn't I?  Yes.  I should.  A normal person would. 

I allow my eyes to look back at you, a bit of annoyance coloring my look.  I should look annoyed. Yes.

"Perchance, could you leave this booth?"

I blinked in surprise at the question.  I was about to ask him to do the same, I'm 'waiting' after all.  And yet, _he's_ asking _me_ to leave?

I smirked.  He narrowed his eyes.

"May I ask why? I do believe that I was sitting here, enjoying a nice cup of tea first, before you even walked in.”  I'm playing around with the conversation.  Keeping this polite.  Don't want this man angry.  That would be bad. Though I figure I should find him rude for even asking.  I can't bring myself to look angry at his rudeness though.  He's different in a way.  His face in expressionless, but I can see the gears grinding in his mind.  It's like watching a finely-tuned machine. In a slightly terrifying and fascinating way.

"If your brother was even going to show up, he would've been here ten minutes ago." The man said quickly, frustration coloring his gaze. "Waiting here any longer is unnecessary, and so I want this seat.  John will be confused if we suddenly changed seats."

"How did you know I was waiting for my brother?" I hesitantly asked, my own curiosity getting the better of me, overriding the part of my mind that was shouting _dangerous_ as I looked at this man.  The man rolled his eyes, and then his words followed like lightning.

"It's obvious. It's 9:53 at the moment.  You're constantly looking at your watch, which means that whomever you're waiting for is late.  Most likely very late, you planned to meet at nine.  You're new to this area.  If you were meeting your mother, she'd have been here on time.  No ring on your left hand; you're not married.  Not waiting for a partner or a potential one.  They wouldn't have been this late without calling you to tell you why and nine in the morning is hardly the most common time for a date.  No. That leaves you waiting for a sibling, who is obviously your brother because you haven't texted him to ask where he is.  Older brother then.  You look up to him too much to question his lateness. Obviously." The man finished with a small flourish that consisted of a nod of his head and a glance of his eyes.

I sat there silently as he finished, eyes wide as my thoughts scrambled into something cohesive. A grin managed to snake its way across my face as I forgot about being afraid of this man.  He was entirely too interesting.

"Well. What else can you tell about me?" I asked, not trying to hide the curiosity in my gaze or tone.  I didn't even realize that my elbows were propped up on the table now and that I was resting my head against the tops of my knuckles. 

"You moved to London recently.  You've taken a job as a librarian, and you weren't expecting the rain today.  The necklace you're wearing is your father's -who died at least five years ago- and you wear that watch facing the inside of your wrist because it's less obtrusive that way to others when you check the time.  You're paranoid, most likely from a sexual assault that involved a weapon. A gun in fact.  And you've had knee surgery on your left knee years ago that still bothers you at times when it rains."  The man finished speaking with another one of those flourishes that I just pictured him doing with his hands even though it only showed in his eyes. 

He started at my sudden laughter.

"What's so funny?" He asked, narrowed eyes and confusion written over his face.

"Nothing.  I was just laughing at myself because I thought that you'd be able to magically guess everything about me after that first bit." He stiffened at this, his gaze flicking on a warning in my mind that I decided to ignore in return for an enjoyable laugh.

"I was wrong? How could I be wrong?" He sharply asked, his eyes piercing into mine as I pushed down my laughter.

"That depends, how did you come to your conclusions?"

"Was I right about anything?"

"The necklace, my father, and the watch.  So explain how you got to the others."  The man visibly sat up straighter -if that was even possible- and flicked his eyes over me again.

"You're not wearing any make-up and your nails are unpainted, clipped short.  A bit dry, you work with your hands and your job isn't one that you need to get dressed up for on a normal basis.  The smell of musty books is clinging to you enough to show that you're around them often.  But you're new here judging from the lack of preparedness for the rain and that you didn't know this was my usual spot.  Which means you're newly hired, a librarian, taking the job offer that was in the paper a few weeks ago."

He paused, looking for a confirmation or disapproval from me.  Truthfully, I was so engrossed in his 'explanation' that I almost didn't notice his pause.

"Brilliant, but I'm not a librarian."  He narrowed his eyes and continued.

"You noticed immediately when I entered.  Most people alone would, but you kept me in your peripheral view and in fact know where every man in this cafe is sitting.  Paranoid.  Attacked by a man, a stranger at that.  Must have been violent to cause that level of paranoia, a weapon was used in the attack.  Most likely a knife or gun, but it was a gun because you didn't try to slide the knife on the table here away from me."

Again, another slightly informal pause in the explanation caused me to respond.

"I'm paranoid yes, but not for that reason.  But continue, please."  His frowned deepened and his next words came out tersely, anger lacing them.

"There's a scar on your left knee on the side, straight and large enough to show you've had surgery on that knee. Most likely from a running related injury.  And it still bothers you judging from the way you were rubbing at it before I moved over here to sit down." 

Had I been rubbing my knee? Really, it was my shin that normally bothered me but I could see where he was coming from. 

"Impressive, but the scar on my knee is from a very intense game of football in which I found myself tackled and spiked by a much larger than me girl.  Rattled up my knee and made me limp for a few days, but I was fine after a week or so." 

Did he just curse under his breath?  His eyes had darted away from mine and I saw his lips move and heard a soft whisper.  But truthfully, I couldn't make it out.

"Can I give it a go on you?" I suddenly found myself saying, my smile returning.  His eyes snapped back to mine, focused and intense.  "I mean, you had a go at this game and I want a turn, though I won't be as good I think."

"This is not a game."

"I know, but that wasn't a 'no' was it?" I said with a grin, already starting to try and figure things out about this man.  I spent the next few minutes coming up with things I could plausibly figure out by looking at what I could see of his body and hands as he huffed and waited without much patience.  I held up a finger just before he started to speak again, knowing now what I was going to say.

"You're right-handed, judging from how you fixed your jacket twice with your right hand instead of your left.  You play the violin and you don't mind the rain.  You're not used to someone reacting the way I did to you sitting down here, and you're normally not wrong about your deductions.  Also, that John you're waiting for means a lot more to you that you let on.  No ring, but your eyes lit up when you said his name. You're miffed about switching seats in some cafe because of what _he'll_ think, you don't really care yourself.  And it's probably not a long shot to say that you haven't told him how you feel and he hasn't done the same.  Good luck with that." I added for good measure, glancing up at his eyes to try and judge how I'd done.

The deeply confused expression said it all.  "How?" He snapped, making me flinch only in the slightest before I coughed hesitantly and explained.

"You seemed surprised when I didn't just leave after you finished telling me what you thought you'd figured out.  You're used to people hating that, though I'm not sure why. I love stories."

"They are most certainly not stories, they are facts-"

"Well, maybe most of the time. Your annoyance shows me that you normally _are_ correct.  I guess I'm just an exception.  You play the violin."

"Yes. How did you know about that?" The curiosity was sharp in his gaze and voice. I calmly pointed to his hands and he followed my gaze.

"Your hands.  You keep your nails clean and well-managed but your left hand has small calluses on it. Specifically, the fingertips.  Those are from playing a stringed instrument.  It's one that's played with a bow too because otherwise both of your hands would have calluses.  Also how I knew you were right-handed.  That leaves only a few instruments to pick.  It's not the bass or cello because of how you tilt your head slightly to your left out of habit.  You're doing it now."

He froze and straightened himself as I continued.

"That leaves the viola or the violin.  The violin is more common, so I made a good guess there.  And you care more than you let on about that John of yours because of how-"

"Sherlock?"

I froze at the sudden sound of a new male voice.  The man across from me -I'm guessing his name is Sherlock- jumped at the sound of the other guy's voice and we both turned to look at him at the same time.

Short in comparison to the man across from me, and very homely.  The man I found myself taking in now was entirely less severe than the Sherlock across from me.  This new man glanced at Sherlock with visible confusion and a touch of concern before looking back at me, questions written all over his face.

"John." Sherlock said without color, short and to the point as he gestured to the space on the seat next to me.  I surprised myself by sliding over to make room for this complete stranger.  My mind couldn't stop thinking about less pressing things.  _Oh, so you're his John._

"Who are you?" John warily asked me as he sat down beside me, his eyes flickering over to Sherlock as if I wasn't capable of giving him an answer. 

"Yes he has a gun.  Self-defense purposes only. Stop looking at him like that." Sherlock surprised me by almost snapping out the words and I felt myself tense and watched John do the same.  It was true though, I had noticed the gun tucked into the back of John's pants, hidden under the jacket he was wearing.  I _had_ been giving him a look.

I am not fond of guns.

"How did you..?" John's uneasy question lingered in the air as he turned his full glance on me, his posture softening slightly.  He was trying to make himself less of a threat. Oh. Well, that was nice, despite how Sherlock narrowed his eyes at this movement. 

"I'm Alice. Alice Parker." I said with a smile, properly introducing myself as I extended a hand.  John returned the offer, his gaze still quizzical.

"Dr. John Watson." He looked like he was about to say more, but I interrupted by dropping my hand and pointing across the table.

"And that's Sherlock, right?"  John's eyebrows rose in surprise, and we both broke out in a soft laughter that Sherlock seemed entirely unamused with. 

"I hardly see how guessing my name from John saying it is funny." Sherlock said from across the table.  I reigned in my giggles and shook my head.  I couldn't explain it, it was a situational thing.  John mimicked my actions before looking back at Sherlock.

"So who is she? Another client? Because here I thought I was just meeting you for some tea."

"Client?"

"Of course she's not a client."

Sherlock and I had spoken at the same time, which caused me to snicker as John turned a confused glance to me, then back to Sherlock.

"Then why is she..?"

"She happened to be sitting in our seat when I entered and I attempted to make her move.  Obviously, she didn't and proceeded to ridicule me with  her 'exceptions'."  I could easily picture the air quotes around that last word.  John gave me a startled look.

"I am so sorry, if I had known that he...Sherlock this is not _our_ table. We could have sat anywhere." John said, turning back to Sherlock with a stern expression.  Sherlock huffed and dismissively waved a hand at John before John sighed and looked back at me.  "Forgive him. He's a toddler with no manners. We'll get out of your way now."

Despite my better judgment, I waved my hand and shook my head.

"I really don't mind.  I wasn't waiting here for anyone anyways.  I just came in to get out the rain and quite frankly, you two are more interesting than sitting here staring at my tea as I wait for the rain to let up."

Sherlock sharply looked at me. "But you're waiting on your brother-"

"Well, to be exact, I do have a brother.  He's currently not even in this country at the moment." I added with a laugh.  Sherlock glared at me as John glanced between us.

"Sherlock is wrong?"

"Yes.  On a few accounts.  He got two things right.  Still doesn't know my job or why I'm paranoid."  John laughed, much to Sherlock's apparent anger, and shook his head.

"That doesn't happen often."

"I gathered as much." I said with a smirk before I glanced outside again.  "Okay John, let me out.  I'll leave you two alone.  He obviously wants me gone." John shot Sherlock a withering look before he turned a softer gaze back at me.

"Really, you don't have to leave. We'll switch seats-"

"Nah. The rain's letting up I think. I'll be fine. Come on." I said with a nudge.  John reluctantly let me out of the booth and I stood, brushing myself off.

"Nice meeting you two though.  Good luck." I added with a glance at Sherlock that made his eyes widen and John glance at him in confusion.  I grinned and pulled my jacket tight around me in preparation for the weather. 

I didn't look back as I left the cafe and stepped into the stinging rain.


	2. A Box of Tea

I was thoroughly soaked by the time I made it back to my flat, and the good humor that had been with me was significantly dulled.  I sighed as I shut and locked the door behind me, stepping into the comfort of my home.  Well, new home to be exact.  That Sherlock had been right when he'd said I was new to London.

I took in the many boxes that had yet to be unpacked with a mental wince and then glanced at the piles of books.  I guess I smelled like them now, which didn't surprise me too much.  They'd been the first thing I had unpacked after I moved in, getting them all set-up on the provided bookshelf that was entirely too small.  I already knew I would need to get another one or two to fit my collection.

But at the moment, all I wanted to do was take a nice hot shower.  I set my shoulder bag on the table and hung my jacket over the back of a chair to dry and wandered to the bathroom.  Thoughts of those two men lazily floated in my mind and mixed with worries about the new job I was starting in two weeks as I washed away the chill of the rain, content.

The next morning I woke up later than usual, and though I wasn't keeping a set schedule, I still felt out-of-sorts when I didn't go on my usual walk until an hour later than normal.  Thankfully, the sky was clear today and I figured that I'd be safe from an unexpected rain. 

I glanced up and to the right as I passed the cafe I'd ducked into the day before, just a bit curious to see if that Sherlock and John were in the same seat as before.  I saw that they were, though they had tea this time -of course they did, I left before they'd ordered the day before- and Sherlock looked very excited about something.  His hands were going all over the place and I couldn't stop myself from smiling at the sight.  It was nice to see them together.

Maybe Sherlock had taken my advice? I wondered this as I walked by, and then almost froze when Sherlock suddenly glanced outside and caught me staring back at him. His eyes narrowed, but by that time I was more focused on the reflection of what I could see behind me in the glass.

Someone across the street was watching me. 

This time I did stop walking, forgetting about Sherlock's gaze as I whipped my head around to look across the street, blinking numbly when I only saw stray pedestrians and some worker fixing a store's door.  _Idiot._ I told myself angrily. 

Of course no one was watching me. Why would someone be? 

 _Stupidstupidstupid._ I repeated like a chant in my mind as I realized that Sherlock -and probably John by this point- had seen me spook like a cat.  I gripped my shoulder strap and forced myself not to look back into the cafe as I resumed walking. 

I didn't want to see either of them laughing at me.  I didn't want anyone -even two almost strangers- to think I was loony.  

_Alice? What were you doing in the bathroom while we were gone? I found books and food and a knife-_

_I was just playing._

_With a knife?_

_..._

_Alice?  Why did you have a knife?_

I pushed my memories away.  I hated how they liked to pop up in my mind at the most inconvenient times.  I focused on my steps, keeping my legs straight as I could. Keeping everything straight as I could.  My posture, my head, everything.  Don't screw with me, the brisk pace I set said.  Despite how my insides felt like they were being slapped into a tight cage with no room to breathe, my outward posture said otherwise.  It was a ruse, of course.

It kept me safe.

Of course it did. A lone woman walking on the street alone was automatically a target.  I was over-thinking things again.  I knew I was, but I couldn't stop my mind once it started this treacherous downward spiral.  I could've sworn that man across the street had been watching me. Of course he wasn't. Not every man was a rapist, or thief, or serial killer. 

My mind fought itself as I forced myself not to basically run down the sidewalk. I am not a target. Just a random woman minding her own business. But isn't it always a random woman? Unsuspecting and obviously weak and an easy target that doesn't have anything to protect herself.

No. I had to stop myself before my body decided to follow my mind and I started to have a panic attack.  I gripped the pepper spray in my shoulder bag like it was a lifeline. That helped a bit.  I forced myself to take deep breaths, and managed to slow my hectic pace into a casual stroll.  I was out to enjoy the morning weather and sunshine, nothing more.  There.  That was better.  I smiled as I got my thoughts under control. 

No one was watching me. No one was even looking at me as I passed by them on the sidewalk.  I mean, I was looking at them, catching short glimpses of them and their eyes as they passed but they weren't doing the same.  Normal people didn't mistrust every single stranger they passed in a day.  I shook my head. I was being silly. 

Enjoy the sunshine.

Enjoy the warmth.

I focused on that, already deciding that I would change the time I went on a walk the next day just to be safe.  I grinned. Yes. That would work.

Feeling a lot better, I sucked in a cleansing breath of air and glanced at the people around me with more of an eye than I had before.  I loved noticing little things people did that most people didn't notice.  I did many of these things myself, and it felt like a game to pick out other things people did.  I didn't try to make anything of it though. Not like Sherlock had.  No, people were just beautiful and fascinating when I wasn't worried they were going to chase after me and kill me.

So as I finished my walk I picked up on the mother with two little kids -twins-, both clinging to her as she looked like she couldn't care less and smoked a cigarette.  I sent a glare her way.  I never got over my hatred for anyone who smokes. Hits too close to home.

A man with a briefcase caught my eye next.  Looking extremely tired, the chain of a pocket watch shone slightly in the sunlight when he took a step.  Interesting. Most people didn't care enough to have one of those these days.  I liked their old mechanics and the whirring pieces.  It made me smile.

Someone had an umbrella. I barely caught sight of the man -I didn't see his face- but he had been walking with an umbrella.  Reflexively, I looked up at the sky, frowning a touch at the unexpected chance of a weather change. The sky didn't give me any hints though, I still had to get used to the weather around here.  Not wanting to take any chances though, I cut my walk short and headed quickly home, deciding to unpack a few more boxes and clean up while I was at it.

A few hours later, covered in a fine mix of dust and cleaning materials, I made it out of my flat and to Tesco's to grab something simple to eat and to take a much-needed break from unpacking. 

I sort of got lost on the way, and might have pulled out my phone to Google a map to the place more than once.  Nothing that I would admit to though. But I had been getting worried when Tesco's came into view and I let out a sigh in relief.

I made a mental note to pick up some honey and tea.  The thought of drinking a nice cup with some honey later sounded like heaven.   

I wandered the aisles once inside, finding almost everything that I had come looking for.  I briskly walked past the rows, unable to locate the tea aisle.  It shouldn't be this hard. I was probably just missing it when it was in plain sight-

I stopped at the beginning of the aisle I was about to pass. In the middle of it and to the left, was someone picking a box of tea off the shelf.  I recognized the box's label with a grin and turned my eyes to the shelf. Yes. Perfect! 

Grateful, I walked over to the shelf without giving notice to the man who had pulled off a box in the first place.  My eyes were too focused on picking out my favorite type of tea -lavender and chamomile- to notice the man.  In fact, it wasn't until I was beside the man, my eyes locked on the box of tea that was going to be mine, that I realized he was staring.

"Alice?"

I jumped at the sound of my name, the box of tea I'd been picking up falling from my hand.  The man managed to grab it before it fell too far and handed it to me with an apologetic look.

It was only that John from yesterday.  I shakily took back the tea with a forced smile, my gaze avoiding his as the adrenaline that'd pulsed through me left and had me feeling washed out. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." I flicked a look at his face. His eyes were soft and he was scratching the back of his head with his one hand.  I realized that I was still in a slightly defensive position.  I snapped myself into something more suitable to a normal woman. 

"No, no. It's fine. Really, just a bit surprised is all." I said with a strained smile and a shake of my head, plopping my tea in my basket before I did something stupid with my hands.  In fact, I decided to keep them laced around the handle of the basket so I couldn't do something stupid with them. 

"I've not really met many people around here yet, wasn't expecting someone to know my name." I said with a broken attempt at a laugh. "I guess I forgot I'd told you two.  How did the tea with Sherlock go after I left?" I asked with a tilt of my head, switching the conversation onto him.

Always switch the conversation.  People thought less about what you were doing or how odd you were acting when they were talking about themselves.  It always worked.  Perfect defense system. 

John laughed and immediately looked more relaxed and turned his eyes back to the tea to choose another. Bingo. That allowed me to try to remember how to un-tense my shoulders. 

"It was tea with Sherlock Holmes, what do you expect? Again, terribly sorry him doing that to you." John said with a smile as he looked back at me.  Thankfully, my shoulders had decided to cooperate.

"Should I expect something? Is he someone famous?" I rolled over the name in my mind, trying to remember the handful of celebrities that I knew.  I really didn't care for them much, but certainly I'd remember such a distinctive name...

"Famous?" John burst out into a sudden laughter that had me blushing and glancing around.  Thankfully no one was looking our way.  What had I said? What it that obvious? John waved his hand in the air as he suppressed his laughter when he realized I looked entirely dumbstruck.

"Wait, you really don't know who he is?  His deducing yesterday didn't tip you off? The name didn't...?"

"No. Should I know him? Was he in a movie or...?" I sheepishly shrugged my shoulders, trying not to look as awkward as I felt.   John looked like he was on the verge of laughing again.

"No no, not a movie.  He's just the world's only consulting detective and has quite the reputation.  I'm not used to running into people that don't know him from the news or my blog." John was rolling his eyes at his own words as he picked up another box of tea and put it in his basket.

"Consulting detective?"  I raised an eyebrow at this, entirely curious.  John nodded.

"When the police are out of their limits -which Sherlock says is all the time- they turn to him for help."

"Fascinating." I smiled and said, curiosity getting the better of me.  I must've been smiling a bit too much though.  John was looking at me in that way that men -and the rare woman- did just before they asked me for something like my number or such.  Oh dang.  This conversation was over now, wasn't it? We both had gotten our tea, there was nothing keeping us near strangers from walking back to the rest of our shopping.  Well, truth be told I was done by now, but that didn't make it any better.

I needed to say something.  The silence was stretching out as John debated with himself.  I noticed too late though. He spoke as he turned toward the checkout's direction.

"You- well." John shook his head in an awkward laugh. "Could I have your number?"

A brilliant idea occurred to me in the second after he asked his question.  I smiled, trying to play like a flirt as I tilted my head slightly. Warm. Friendly. Interested in him.  Clasp my hands on my basket handle and sheepishly look away as I speak.

"Well actually...I might have gotten a bit lost on the way here and might not remember how to get back.  Mind helping me out a bit? I'll give you my number in return."  John laughed with a smile. His smile was interesting. Half-sided, but not a smirk. Slow-spreading and his eyes showed most of the emotion. Eye-catching.

"Sure. Let's go checkout and I'll walk you home." John said smoothly with a turn to the checkout counters.  I smirked as I followed him.  I might actually give him my real number if he didn't try anything funny on the way home.  He was a good resource to be able to call. Strong despite his height. Trained, most likely military?  I wasn't going to get in-between him and his interesting Sherlock though.  John had that look that Sherlock had had the day before when talking about the other. It was cute, and I wasn't going to mess with it.  But hey, at least I wouldn't be wandering around to get back to my flat.

After we both made it through checkout and I told John where I lived, he smirked and started walking, motioning for me to follow.

"You actually live a few blocks away from me. I'm surprised we haven't run into each other sooner, even if you haven't been here that long.  Good thing for you though, it's really a straight shot from here to get back there. About a ten minute walk if you take the direct route." John rattled off, settling into that small talk mode that normal people seemed to feel some need to do.  I wouldn't call John normal though. No, just more attuned to social norms. 

Because a normal man didn't carry a gun hidden in the back of his pants. 

He wasn't carrying one now, but from what Sherlock had mentioned, it wasn't an odd occurrence.  Maybe John helped Sherlock out with his consulting thing? I nodded at John's words, remembering to keep the interest feigned in my eyes and posture. It was easier than I expected.

"So you mentioned a blog, right?" I asked, cutting John off a bit while we walked.  He nodded.

"Yes.  I write a blog about the cases that Sherlock and I solve."

"Oh, so you do work together with him?" I was surprised that my thoughts had been right. But didn't John say he was a doctor? Granted, there were hundreds of types and I was wrong to assume-

"I do, though most people don't understand how I can take it.  But I work in a clinic as well. Mundane stuff most of the time, I can't complain."

"Ah. Medical doctor." A little cog in my brain clicked into place. John gave me a look.

"I was trying to figure out what you had a doctorate in.  I never assume it's actually in medicine. Bad habit."  I explained with my one free arm, the other held down by my groceries.  John gave me another look, though this time there was a great deal of respect laced into it.  I had to look away to keep myself from blushing. This man was taken already. I was being absurd. 

I always was a blusher when it came to compliments though.  Of course it didn't have to do with if I found John attractive or not. Which when I really considered it, not really.  He was nice, by not my type. I internally let out a small sigh in relief and let myself pick up on what John had started saying.

"-and this is my stop. 221B Baker Street." John had stopped in front of the flat's door and was looking back at me, a bit expectant in his gaze.  "If you continue down the sidewalk for another two blocks and hang a right, you'll come to your place in no time."  I smiled and glanced at the way he pointed.  He had been right. This was a much faster route than the wandering one I'd taken.  He paused as I turned to look back at him, his hand on the doorknob.  I shook my head in silent amusement and pulled out my phone. 

"What if you give me your number instead? Your hands are full of bags and doorknob."  John looked genuinely surprised, but rattled off his number without complaint.  I typed it in quickly and glanced up to say thanks and goodbye when I saw the curtains of one of the windows in the flat upstairs swish.  Had someone been watching me? Was that from John's flat? A lover? A conspirator?  John followed my line of sight and rolled his eyes.

"That's just Sherlock.  Don't worry over it."  I blinked in surprise, an involuntary smirk forming on my face.

"You live with him then?"

"We're just flatmates. That's all." John said defensively as I forced a giggle down.  I slipped my phone into my pocket and turned to leave, waving.

"For now, you mean." I quickly said, almost skipping away as John opened his mouth to respond.

"Bye!" I shouted over my shoulder, feeling giddy as I vanished into the sidewalk crowds and out of John's sight as I headed back to my own flat.  It was fun to push a little bit when it came to people and relationships they were denying.  Hopefully he wouldn't be too offended.


	3. The Case Begins

I watched Alice take off down the sidewalk towards her flat, waiting until she was out of sight before I shut the door and shook my head.  A lingering rush of anger was still coursing through my body at the accusation I had denied.  Why did everyone who met Sherlock and I assume we were a couple?

But still, she had asked for my number.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, frowning a touch at the blank screen as if that would cause a message from her to appear sooner.  She was attractive, and though not my normal type, I still wouldn't mind getting to know her a bit more.  My thoughts drifted to Sherlock and how he'd been watching from the window.  He had an uncanny knack for ruining many a date, and I could only hope he wouldn't do the same if I got the chance with Alice.

Gripping the grocery bags tighter, I walked up the stairs and into our flat, taking in a bored-looking Sherlock on the sofa as I went to the kitchen.  I started to put away the groceries when, to my surprise, I heard Sherlock stand and shuffle over to the kitchen entrance.  I looked back to see him watching me as I moved.

"You could help, you know." I said with a raised eyebrow, knowing this particular tactic wouldn't work.  But it might get him talking.  Sherlock was highly unpredictable when he was bored.  We hadn't had a case in the last two weeks and quite frankly I was shocked he hadn't started shooting the walls again. 

"Boring." He tersely stated before folding himself into one of the chairs around the kitchen table.  I rolled my eyes and continued to put everything away, aware of his eyes on my back. He was still staring at me when I finished and I turned a small glare at him in frustration.

"What is it Sherlock?"  He didn't answer.   Now that I looked closer, his eyes were slightly glazed, a sign he was lost in his mind palace, wandering the halls in search of something interesting because speaking with me at the moment obviously wasn't.  I sighed and moved to leave the kitchen, his voice catching me off-guard.

"I can't figure her out." His deep voice sounded puzzled.  Sherlock, puzzled?  I paused in the doorway, curious and hoping he'd elaborate. 

"That Alice that you were flirting with.  I was wrong about her." Sherlock said with a crease between his eyes. 

"Well, you were wrong about Harry. What of it? You can't always be right." I added nonchalantly, which wasn't the correct thing to do judging from the sharp look Sherlock sent my way. 

"I was wrong about Harry because of social conventions and stereotypes.  Alice is different.  It's obvious what she does and yet she denied it when I deduced what it was.  She wasn't lying to me, but there's no possible way that she could be anything else and yet I am wrong." Sherlock said in a stronger voice of agitation, standing now as he built his words upon himself. 

"And what really bothers me is her paranoia. She saw me looking down at you two before you even noticed.  She admitted she was paranoid as well.   But if she wasn't attacked, then why?"   Sherlock was pacing now and I shook my head.  Sherlock really needed a new case if he was willing to let this bother him so much.  He normally wouldn't even give some woman like Alice a second glance.

"Are you sure Greg doesn't have any new cases for you?"  I tried to turn the conversation away from Alice, feeling a bit odd discussing her when she wasn't here to defend herself.  Sherlock dramatically sighed at the mention of Lestrade.  He waved a hand through the air as well.

"Everything he's shown me has been a three or four at best.  Nothing that I couldn't solve in minutes." Sherlock turned his pacing into the sitting room, and I followed. I watched him from the side of the room as he kept walking around, his long strides eating up space as he rambled to himself.  At least he had stopped talking about Alice. 

A buzz of the doorbell downstairs made Sherlock freeze and glance to the door of our flat with a grin.  I listened as Mrs. Hudson opened the door and the sounds of footsteps could be heard heading toward our flat.  I glanced back at Sherlock as our door opened, chuckling when I saw him posed on the sofa, hands folded in front of him as if he hadn't been bored out of his mind.  I found it fondly amusing how he managed to do that so easily.  And just as I was realizing that I probably shouldn't be thinking like that about my flatmate, the person at our door spoke.

"Sherlock."  I turned back to the door to see Lestrade, looking a bit worse for wear, but relieved, on our doorstep.  Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced over at him, acting entirely nonchalant.  I could see the interest sparking in his eyes though as Lestrade walked towards him and held out a file. 

"Thought this one might be interesting enough for you to help us out with." Sherlock was already flipping through the file as I sat down on the sofa beside him, looking over his shoulder.

"Two murders spread out over the last four weeks.  Each victim was found in their home with the doors locked, no sign of forced entry.  The victims aren't connected in any way from what we could tell.  No obvious signs of how they died, and we wouldn't even be trying to see if they are connected if we hadn't just found a third body in the same condition.  The scene's still being processed.  Will you come?"

Sherlock flipped through the rest of the folder and then shut it with a decisive snap and grinned, looking up at Lestrade. 

"How long will I have?"

"I can get you an hour at most."

"Brilliant. Let's go!" Sherlock said with a jump to his feet, excitement in his eyes.  Lestrade smiled, relief showing in his eyes as he turned and left, Sherlock following as he grabbed his Belstaff jacket and dramatically swept it on.  He paused at the door, looking back at me with sharp eyes.

"This is at least a seven John! You coming?"  I couldn't turn down the look he was giving me.  Not that I would have considered it in the first place (I wouldn't let him rush off by himself after what happened with the cabbie) but it was still such an excited look that made me agree automatically.  I was up in a moment, grabbing my own jacket before I followed him out.    

The cab ride was short, and Sherlock all but jumped out when we arrived on the scene.  I rushed out a thanks to the cabbie and paid before running to catch up with Sherlock as he dipped under the crime scene tape. 

"What are you doing here Freak?"  Donovan was giving Sherlock a distasteful look as he strode past her and towards the apartment that various DI's were heading into and out of like ants.  She glared at him, and then turned it to me as he ignored her.

"Lestrade came and got us." I said hurriedly, hoping that she would take that explanation and not pester either of us more.  It was already hard enough to not flinch whenever she called Sherlock 'freak'.  She frowned at my words, but didn't say anything else as Lestrade walked over to Sherlock and started heading inside.  I had to run to catch up and I caught the tail-end of what Lestrade was saying.

"And he was found in here." Lestrade said with a motion of his hand towards a room.  Sherlock stepped inside and I followed, noticing when Anderson glanced up from the body and scowled.  Sherlock didn't even look his way.  He was taking in everything about the room.  I followed his gaze around.

The room itself was bland, a simple living room that didn't have many personal belongings in it.  The shelves in the room were empty and a few stray boxes littered the outskirts of the room.  A man, mid-thirties, was lying face-down in the middle of the room near the couch, a book lying open near his left hand. Blankets were strewn about the couch and tangled in the man's legs.  Sherlock spider-stepped over things that were scattered on the floor and then bent over the body as Anderson grimaced and quickly stepped back and took his leave.  I followed along behind Sherlock and by the time I knelt down to look closer at the man, Sherlock had already stood and motioned for me to look. 

"What do you see?" He asked, his blue-grey eyes staring into my own as he waited.  I stared a moment longer before looking back at the body. Sherlock hardly needed the help figuring out things about this man, but he still asked me every time what I saw.  I appreciated that it was now a normal ritual at crime scenes.  A few minutes of my own observations and I stood, wincing from a small pain in my leg before I looked at Sherlock. 

"He's in his mid to late thirties.  Time of death is somewhere around two days ago, and there are no signs of a struggle.  Possible overdose...but there are signs of asphyxiation and no marks around his neck.  Chemically induced perhaps?" I glanced around the room.

"Boxes and little personal touch.  Probably a new tenant, which would explain why no one found him until two days after his death." I paused, looking over at Sherlock for approval.  He grinned and nodded before whirling out his own deductions.

"Well done.  He did move in here recently, and it was to take the job position at the library judging from the boxes of books, and the maps on the table that has the library circled and marked out.  He also has a note placed on it with his starting time.  He was to begin this Monday.  His name is Clarence Trent from a look at his ID.  Look up his records to confirm what I said."  Sherlock stepped around me and the body as he continued, Lestrade watching from the door.

"Who found him?"

"The next-door neighbor.  Pamela Morris.  She said that she came over to have some tea.  When he didn't answer, she got worried and looked through the windows to see if he was home and saw him on the floor.  She then called the police." Lestrade filled in for Sherlock from where he stood.  Sherlock's dark curls bobbed once as he gave a small nod before carrying on.

"Drug overdose or suicide is possible, but I bet that no one has found any empty bottles around the flat and there is nothing to suggest his life was taking a downward turn that suicide would have solved.  No, overdose is very unlikely.  Poison, on the other-hand..."

"That would explain the signs of asphyxiation." I threw in, my eyes narrowing as I immediately looked around for a cause of poison.

"You're not going to find anything John.  The killer was smart enough to either take the poison with them or administer it somewhere else. Have Molly run a blood analysis to see what chemicals are present in this man's system.  Have the team search the house for all food items or traces of something that the poison could have been put into.  Let me know what you find. Where's the neighbor?" 

"In her place next door.  We're talking to her now though-"

"I'd like to talk to her myself." Sherlock stated as he walked past Lestrade and the man sighed in reluctance but didn't move to stop him.  I followed Sherlock next door as he stepped into the open flat and the woman and DI inside glanced up.  She was petite, and her blonde hair and makeup was badly messed up, most likely from crying.  I looked at her with sympathy as Sherlock walked over and waved back the investigator. 

"W-who are you?" She stammered, clutching a tissue in her hand. 

"We're with the police, and he just has a few questions if you don't mind Ms. Morris." I said softly, trying to console her because I knew Sherlock would offer nothing on that end.  She looked confused, but she nodded as Sherlock began speaking.

"Why were you going over to Clarence's today Ms. Morris?" Sherlock started, his gaze intense.

"We were going to have a spot of tea, that's all." She said with a sniffle before blowing her nose into a tissue. 

"And Clarence, how did you meet him? You didn't take him anything as a gift when he moved in so there must be another reason."  Pamela looked nun-pulsed and I hissed out a small warning at Sherlock.  Sherlock threw me a unamused look.

"I met him just after the break in.  He came over to let me know in cas-"

"Break in? What break in?" Sherlock's deep voice cut Pamela off, dark and cutting like a knife as he questioned her.  She stammered as she responded, her frantic gaze looking from him to me and back. 

"The break in about a week or two ago.  Rattled him up a bit, it did.  Nothing was taken, but he came over to let me know to keep an eye out."  Sherlock folded his hands in front of himself, brow furrowing as he thought for a minute.

"I don't see how-"

"Come along John!" He suddenly said, brushing off Pamela's words and spinning quickly out of the room.  

"I'm sorry. He's...just." I added a sympathetic shrug as I followed him, Pamela's confused face vanishing from sight as Sherlock strode out of the building and hailed a cab. 

"What was that about?" I asked with a small frown of my own as a cab rolled up in front of us.

"What was what about?"

"That. Back there.  Oh." I realized with a pause as I followed him into the cab. "You think the murder and break-in is connected."

"Obviously." I turned a withering glance his way, but he was staring out the window and sadly couldn't see it. 

"So where are we going?"

"Bart's."

I sighed in acceptance and  pulled out my phone as I felt it buzz. 

_Hey, this is Alice. Just texting you to let you know I'm not some random stranger if this number shows up._

I smiled at the text, picturing her laughing a bit as she typed that out, her short brown hair bouncing.  I quickly responded.

_I was worried that you wouldn't text me actually.  It's been awhile since I've been asked for my number and not the other way around. -JW_

A huff from Sherlock made me glance up as I pocketed my phone.  He was still turned towards the window, his arms crossed and his posture indifferent.  I sighed and tilted my head. 

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"Sherlock-" I let the rest of my sentence die out as I realized that he wasn't going to respond to me.  He resolutely continued to stare out the window as the cab sped along.  I didn't want to even try to figure out what he was being huffy about.  I fingered my phone in my pocket, waiting for another buzz that didn't come by the time we pulled up to Bart's. 

I was left to pay the fair again and to chase after Sherlock's coat as we went inside the all too familiar now building and into the morgue where Molly was waiting with the other two bodies.

"Hi Molly." I kindly said as Sherlock circled the two bodies and she fidgeted in a corner, trying to be helpful without knowing what to do.  She gave me a weak smile and glanced back at Sherlock.  I walked over to one of the bodies, male, young, twenties most likely, and looked at the other.  I narrowed my eyes as I took in the elderly lady on the other slab.  No wonder Lestrade hadn't thought the victims were connected. 

My phone buzzed and pulled my attention from watching Sherlock lean over the bodies, using that small microscope of his as he took in every bit of information possible.

_Well, consider me different from the ordinary. What are you up to? Anything interesting? I'm finishing unpacking and it's quite boring over here._

I typed out a response as Sherlock started talking, glancing up as I hit send to see him shoot me a slightly annoyed look before he turned it back to the bodies.

_I'm just out with Sherlock.  Nothing too interesting actually.  -JW_

"If you're done," Sherlock said with another pointed glance at me. "maybe you'd like to come listen?"  I blinked in surprise and blanched a bit.  Since when did he start caring if I paid any attention to him?  I'd seen him talk to himself for hours without realizing I wasn't in the room.  I obliged though, and walked over to him.

"What can you see?" He asked me, suddenly at my side, his gaze intense. I glanced over the bodies before returning his answer.

"They look exactly like the other one.  It doesn't seem like there's anything that connects them though.  What are their blood reports like Molly?" I asked with a glance at her.  She blinked and picked up some papers, reading them off quickly.

"Both had high levels of atropine, hyoscyamine, and scopolamine.  The young man also had nicotine in his system.  Neither had anything in their stomachs though."  She finished with a small frown.

"There are no puncture wounds on them anywhere." Sherlock stated, glancing at Molly.

"I couldn't find any either."

"What Molly mentioned are all high-toxic poisons. If there are no puncture wounds, then how did the poison get into their system?" I asked with a frown, looking to Sherlock for an answer. 

"The poison is most likely from a plant.  A member of the Solanaceae family.  Commonly referred to as the Nightshade family.  It's possible that the killer put a liquid poison onto the victim's skin or fed it as a powder to them without their knowing.  Maybe put into a capsule or pill that dissolved into the stomach and left no trace. Capsule is more likely, there are no residual marks around their fingers or nails.  Swab them anyway and let me know what you find.  I need to look over the crime scene photos again."

And with that, Sherlock headed off into the room adjoining this one, his expression dark and a bit puzzled.  Molly went to work and I sighed, wondering how much more use I could really be at the moment.  If I just left, there was a chance Sherlock wouldn't even notice. But I knew he would appreciate the help sifting through the piles of photos and evidence that Lestrade and his team had already gotten off the previous two murders.  I steeled myself for the upcoming hours of work and went to join Sherlock my fingers pulling out my phone as soon as it buzzed.

_I highly doubt that._

I smirked and raised an eyebrow at the message, about to reply when a short call from Sherlock had me slipping it away as I joined him around the casework.


	4. Umbrella

A day or two had passed since I'd last texted John.  He hadn't said otherwise to my last text, and I couldn't help but grin at the thought of what those two were getting up to.  He had mentioned that he had a blog or something, hadn't he?  I contemplated looking it up for a moment before making a mental note to do so later. 

In the meantime, I took a glance around my flat with a nod of approval at the significant lack of moving boxes and the growth in personal warmth I'd added in the last two days.  I still needed to get more bookshelf space though. So at the moment there were a few piles of books stacked by the existing shelf. I didn't mind.  Everything else was clean and taken out of a box aside from some linen and non perishable food items. 

Satisfied, I decided that I should take a break from arranging everything to enjoy the weather.  It'd rained yesterday, so I hadn't gone out.  Today the sun looked weak, but inviting as I pulled on a light jacket and grabbed my keys.  A lock of my door and I headed out, stepping outside and into the fresh air and scant sunshine. 

I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe in, rolling my shoulders to relax before I set off.  I wasn't going anywhere in particular at first, but I soon decided that a stop in that little cafe sounded like a wonderful idea.  I hadn't unpacked my kettle just yet at home and a cup of tea and a bite to eat sounded nice.

Thankfully, the place wasn't crowded in the mid-afternoon and I had no trouble getting a seat and being served within minutes.  I couldn't stop myself from glancing over at the seat that John and Sherlock had claimed as their own.  A young couple was sitting there at the moment, holding hands as they laughed over their food and I reminded myself not to stare.  Normal people didn't stare at random strangers.   I thought about texting John as I sipped at my tea and munched my sandwich, but decided against it in the long run.  He was probably busy, or he'd have texted me first. 

Satisfied when my cup and plate were empty, I paid and left the cafe and headed home. 

I hadn't gone far when I noticed that someone was following me.

It was an absurd thought. Of course it was. Broad daylight, why would someone be following me now?  I wasn't drawing attention to myself or anything like that.  But yet, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end as I kept walking, my pace brisk but not terribly enough to clue off whomever it was that I was panicking or had noticed.  I glanced into shop windows that I passed and took in a figure -a man I think- in a dark outfit that was behind me just enough that I could barely see him in the reflections.

I didn't dare look back.  If I looked back and he saw and decided to chase me down-

No. That wouldn't happen.  Of course that man -Person, really. I reminded myself I couldn't tell- wasn't following me. _Ofcoursenotofcoursenotofcoursenot._

I suddenly paused in my walk, pulling out my phone as I fake-checked my messages.  What I actually did was tilt my screen and use it to see behind me.

The figure had stopped walking. 

A cold chill swept through me as I all but threw my phone back into my pocket and my eyes darted around.  A mental map of people I knew in the area started to come to mind until I banished it quickly.  That had been a map for home, not London.  I looked around to place myself. Baker Street.

That name rang a bell and I turned my head to the side, realizing immediately what the name connected with in my mind as my eyes spotted the door ahead of me.  221B.  The nondescript door and knocker flashed in my memories. 

John lived here. With Sherlock.  A lifeboat in the sudden sea I found myself in.  My hands were sweaty and I was doing my best to control myself as I stepped up to their door and knocked sharply.  I didn't glance back to see if the figure had stopped as well.  I didn't want to know, though I prayed that I was wrong and it had continued walking by. 

Maybe I was just a bit crazy.  As the door remained shut my anxiousness grew and my eyes darted around the door.  Idiot.  There was a buzzer that I had missed.  I lifted my hand to press it, hoping that either of them were here when the door opened.

A surprised John greeted my panicked eyes. I grinned and fell into an act, stepping forward and hugging him quickly while whispering _'Just play along.'_ in his ear before I pulled back.  His eyes were full of confusion, but he thankfully smiled as if expecting me and waved me inside before shutting the door too slow for my liking.  As soon as the door was shut though, I let out a sigh in relief, leaning against the patterned wall in the hall as I gathered my scattered wits.  Another breath and I opened my eyes to him, surprised to see concern and not disgust there.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I said quickly, glancing at the door as I explained.  "It's silly, but I could've sworn that someone had been following me and I didn't want to just lead them to my flat where I live alone and-"

"Hey, it's alright. You're fine." John said, cutting me off with a soothing tone as he stepped forward and patted my shoulder.  If he noticed me flinching at the touch, he didn't mention it.

"I'm sure if anyone was following you, they won't if they think you live here or have a boyfriend.  That was smart to come by.  Come on upstairs, you should sit down for a bit and let your nerves calm."  John guided me towards the stairs with a hand on the small of my back and I frowned and shook my head.

"No, I couldn't possibly.  Just let me stay here for a few minutes in the hall and I'll be fine and out of your way.  If Sherlock's home I highly doubt he would appreciate me just showing up."  John rolled his eyes and started leading me up the stairs.

"He can deal with it.  Would you agree to a cup of tea? Then if you feel up to it you can leave."  I bit my lip, contemplating the offer for a moment before I sighed in acceptance. My body was slightly shaking, and the thought of going home alone to an empty flat with someone possibly still following me was more than I could take at the moment.

"Okay.  Again, I'm sorry for the intrusion." I said through the memories swimming around in my mind.

"Don't worry about it." John said as we reached the top and he opened the door to his flat.   He waved me inside first and I hesitantly obliged, letting him lead me and sit me down on a sofa before he retreated to the kitchen.  But I hardly even noticed that because I was too busy just taking in everything about the flat that was flying into my visual space.

I wasn't quite sure what to even begin to look at because there was just so much going on in the small space, speaking of the people who lived there.  An ornate mirror caught my attention first, but more so because of what I could see reflected in it from my angle.  Surprised, I turned around and stepped up onto the sofa, tracing the yellow paint and what I swore were bullet holes on the green-patterned walls.  They couldn't really be bullet holes, right?

Realizing I probably shouldn't stand on someone's sofa in my shoes, I hurriedly stepped down and started to walk around the room.  Piles of books and papers caught my attention at every glance, stories and theories behind their purposes popping into my mind.  I couldn't help but grin as I noticed a violin in the corner near the window.  I knew I had been right about that at least.  My feet took me back to the fireplace where the ornate mirror hung above it. 

The mantle was overflowing with various objects.  I started a bit when I realized there was a skull among the objects, bending down a bit to get a closer look.  I wasn't sure if I was fascinated or disgusted by it.  I tore my eyes from it though and they landed on a Cluedo board that was stuck to the wall with a knife.  I gently touched it, feeling how tightly it was fashioned before breaking out into a fit of giggles. I couldn't help myself.  It was just such an absurd thing to see.

John walked back out from the kitchen to see me still trying to stop a fit of giggles and he tilted his head, smiling softly as I pointed to the Cluedo board.

"Sherlock did that, I swear." He said with a small laugh of his own as he set down two cups of tea on the coffee table.  I managed to stop giggling enough to walk over and sit back down on the sofa.

"I can entirely picture him doing that."

"Picture me doing what?" The sudden sound of Sherlock's voice as he entered the room and claimed the seat near John's made me start.  I smirked and pointed to the Cluedo game on the wall before waving away John's offer of sugar or milk.  He raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged and cradled the cup in my hands.  Despite my laughter, they were still shaking a bit.  I frowned at that.

"It's a terrible game.  It deserves to be there." Sherlock said with a glare at the game before suddenly giving me a piercing stare.  I froze.

"So why are you here." It was more a statement than a question.  "John hasn't mentioned that he was going out or bringing someone here, and he hasn't had a text from you in two days.  No plans, but he let you in.  Your hands are shaking and your posture is defensive.  Something happened.  Someone was following you, or at least you thought they were." He finished with a glance at John, who had frozen with his cup of tea half raised to his mouth.  Silence fell heavy in the room and when no one spoke, Sherlock looked back at me.

"Am I wrong?"

"No. Dead on." I said with a surprised shake of my head as I took a sip of my tea.

"John, might want to take a drink before it goes cold." Sherlock said without looking at him as he grinned.  John blinked and set his cup down, still a bit dazed as to what to say.  I smirked a bit.

"What?" Sherlock demanded with a frown. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"This time yes. Sorry, but you just looked so happy to be right this time around." I sipped my cup of tea, feeling my body relax by degrees as Sherlock's eyes raked over me.  No doubt he was still trying to figure out my occupation.  John cleared his throat, obviously trying to figure out something appropriate to say.

"So Alice, how's moving in going for you?"

"John, small talk is hardly the way to go.  She's fine. Just about finished moving everything in.  Now let her out so we can get back to work."

"You have a case?" I asked with a tilt of my head, curious.

"It's nothing that can't wait until we finish a cup of tea." John said more to Sherlock than me, his voice chastising.  Sherlock folded his arms like a child and looked away. 

"It's a serial killer John, and our first case in two weeks. I hardly think it can wait."

"Sherlock-"

"It's fine, John.  If you two have work, I'll take my leave.  It's been a bit.  If someone was following me, they probably left by now." I spoke mostly for the benefit of myself.  That little part of me that was screaming that the person was still out there.  Entirely irrational.  John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as I stood and gently set my half-finished cup down.  I turned to let myself out, but I barely made it to the door when I felt a hand touch my shoulder.

I moved without thinking.  I dropped out of touch of the hand and threw my elbow back into their groin, hearing a startled gasp before I realized that it had to be Sherlock or John.  I turned quickly around to see Sherlock grasping the edge of the chair where John was sitting with a shocked expression.  Sherlock's face was twisted in a grimace and apologies were falling out of my mouth as I flushed and edged toward the door.

"It was an experiment.  Nothing more. Do not feel the need for sentimental apologies.  I'll be fine in a minute."  He sucked in a breath while John frowned and stood up.

"Well, I'll see you out then Alice." John said with a bemused shake of his head before he walked over to me and lead me back downstairs.

"I really didn't mean to do that I'm just jumpy and-"

"Alice. It's Sherlock.  He deserves someone doing that to him every once in awhile." John said with a roll of his eyes. I sighed, but nodded as John opened the door. But instead of opening it to see the street, there was a man standing in the doorway, arm lifted as if he was about to open the door himself.  He looked slightly surprised, and John sighed. 

The man was tall, wearing a finely tailored suit.  He faintly reminded me of Sherlock and his odd demeanor, but what caught my attention was what he was holding. 

"Umbrella man." I said into the silence that had filled the doorway.  Both men gave me equally amusing looks of confusion.  I grinned. 

"Umbrella man?" The man at the door said, finally moving to step inside with a look at me.  I waved my hand dismissively.

"I saw you a few days ago on a walk.  Noticed your umbrella, but when I looked again, you were gone."  The man tilted his head ever so slowly and turned his eyes to John, who looked entirely amused. 

"He's upstairs Mycroft." John said with a point of his thumb before stepping around him and leading me toward the door.    I glanced back at Mycroft -heck of a name, that was- before looking back at John.

"Don't mind him.  He's just Sherlock's brother who shows up at the most inconvenient times."  I fondly thought of my own brother and smirked.

"Entirely understandable.  Thanks again for the help John." I added, glancing outside.  There was no sign of whomever had been following me before.  "I should be fine getting home."  John looked like he was going to argue with me about that, but he let it go. 

"Alright, but let me know when you get home.  Just to be sure." I nodded that I would before stepping onto the sidewalk and glancing back. John was watching me with a gentle look of concern.  I waved a bit before turning away and taking off toward my flat.

Thankfully, I didn't notice anyone following me the entire way home.  That didn't stop me from rushing the entire way, but it held my hysterical thoughts at bay until I was inside and behind my locked door.  I sighed in relief and sent a quick text to John.

_I'm home now._

I paused after it sent for a moment before sending off another quick one.

_Good luck on the case._

 The next day I had to go into my new office to sort some things out with my new boss about my job that I was starting soon.  I ran some errands afterwards, and was in a great mood when I made it back to my flat around mid-afternoon. 

I stopped as soon as I saw the door to my flat. 

My door was open.

Why was my door open.

Why the hell was my door open.

I was sure that I had locked it like normal before I'd left this morning.  I hesitated, not knowing if I dared to enter my own home or not for fear that whomever had gotten in was still there.  Stepping lightly, I leaned close to the door, holding my breath as I listened for any signs of movement.  Silence greeted my ears.  I slowly pushed open my door and took a step inside.

The things in my flat were messed up, but not ransacked.  Piles of things had been moved or pushed over, but there was not chaos thankfully.  I dropped my bag at the door and rushed into my kitchen as my eyes darted around for signs that someone was still here.  I pulled out my largest knife from a drawer before I spent the next half hour searching my entire flat to make sure that no one was still there.

Only then did I go and shut my door, feeling a cold chill as I locked it, knowing how much good that had done.  Strangely, I couldn't find anything that had been stolen.  Yes, things were messy, but nothing that I could immediately see was missing.  I should have felt relieved, but that fact just unsettled me more than helped.  Why break into someone's flat and not steal anything?

The only thing I could come up with was that maybe the previous tenants had forgotten something and came looking for it.  That was plausible at least. Well, not really.  They shouldn't still have the keys to this place.  Right.  Well then.

I called the police as I put my knife away.

Which, in retrospect, wasn't the most helpful thing.  When they showed up, they asked me a few questions about if anything was taken or broken or etc. and inspected the door.  They told me to get my locks changed and to call them if this happened again.  But at the moment, there really wasn't much they could do since nothing was taken and there wasn't forced entry.  I thanked them as they left and then sighed against my door.  I'm not sure what I had expected them to do, now that I thought on it.  But, it did make me feel better that at least someone other than me knew about it.  A bit calmer now, I pulled out the telephone book I had.  A few minutes of looking and calling various numbers and I found a locksmith that was willing to come over in a hour and change the lock on my door.  I sighed heavily in relief. 

I figured I might as well clean up before the locksmith arrived.

By the time I heard a knock on my door, I had managed to get everything back into a presentable order.  I still didn't see anything that had been taken.  I frowned as I realized that I still didn't feel too happy about that.  It nagged at the back of my mind, the reason why it had happened in the first place.  Maybe it was just some teenagers on a dare.  Yes, that was entirely possible. 

I shook my thoughts away and opened my door to see a man in a blue uniform, tools on the ground beside him.

"Hello, you must be Dr. Parker, right?" The man said as he reached out to shake my hand.  I did so as I nodded. 

"Yes I am. You're the locksmith then?"

"That I am." The man said with a friendly smile.  I had been worried that the man would give me that uneasy feeling that most repairmen gave me.  Not that they were inherently creepy, but most tended to have a weird smell from working so often. It didn't help that I was normally paranoid anyway because they were strangers coming into my home. But thankfully, this man didn't give off that vibe.  Maybe I was okay with him because he wasn't actually going to be coming into my flat.

"The name's Don, by the way.  And I'll get right to work.  It shouldn't take me very long." Don said as he knelt down to start inspecting the lock.  Relieved, I went to the kitchen to get him the check I'd written after discussing payment over the phone.  By the time I walked back over, he was engrossed in his work, the lock on my door already in pieces.  He glanced up as I came back and I handed him the check.  He nodded and put it in his back pocket before reaching back into his tool box to grab something.

"Here's the new set of keys." He said as he held them out before dropping them in my open hand. 

"Thanks." I said as I turned to go put them on my key ring and to chuck the old ones.  With that done, and not wanting to bother Don as he worked, I pulled a book of mine off the shelf and sat down on my sofa to read.   

About a half hour later, I heard Don stand up by the door and start to put his things away.  I set down my book and walked over to look. 

"What do you think?" He gestured to the door as he asked, still putting his things away in the process.  I looked at the new lock, enjoying the way it's color matched my door and how clean and new it looked. 

"It looks wonderful. Thank you very much, especially for coming out so suddenly."

"No problem Miss.  I'll be going then.  Give me a call if you have any problems." He said as he clicked his tool box shut and I nodded.

"I will." I said as he dipped his head and left.  I closed my door and felt very relieved when I heard the soft click of the new lock. 

That night I took a knife with me back to my bedroom and despite telling myself I was perfectly safe, I couldn't fall asleep.

When the sun rose and filtered into my room I rolled out of bed, carrying the knife with me as I checked my door.  Still locked. Safe. I sighed and set my knife down back in the kitchen and went about my normal morning routine. 

My body was exhausted though from the lack of sleep, and so I was running late when I got back from my morning walk.  Not that it really mattered -I didn't start work until next Monday- but I still tried to be punctual about my habits.  By the time I made it back to my flat I was already planning to take a hot bath and go back to sleep when I paused at my door.

Taped to the middle of my door was a small piece of paper with the number 15 printed on it.  Confused, I tilted my head and pulled it off, turning it around.  But nothing was on the back of it.  I sighed, rolling my eyes.  Must be kids trying to prank me, I thought bitterly, my mind straying back to a similar occurrence.

  _"You have seven days." The raspy voice over the phone said before hanging up. I had only been 13._

_I fled my house and ran crying to the neighbors, babbling incoherently as I banged on their door and they let me in.  They called my mom home from work, and she took me back home and told me it was nothing._

_The next day at school my best friend walked up to me and grinned._

_"Did you like my call?" She said with a laugh. It had been her. She had meant it as a prank probably, but I didn't care._

_I looked at her in disgust and told her to go screw with someone else._

I crumpled up the numbered paper in my hand, unlocking my door with a shake of my head.  That had been over a decade ago and I could still remember how frightened I had been.  Granted, that mainly had to do with the nightmare I'd had only a day or so before, but still. Well, this time around I knew enough to know it was just a simple prank. 

So I didn't give it any more thought as I threw the wad of paper into the trashcan.


	5. Dinner

Sherlock was posed on the sofa in our sitting room, his hands folded across his chest as he thought.  Files from the case were scattered on the coffee table, and I was sitting down after having poured over them with him.  I sipped a cup of tea, rolling my shoulder as I relaxed a bit and waited to see if Sherlock was able to come up with anything.

So far we knew that the victims had been poisoned, but we still didn't know how or with what.  There were traces of the poison under the victims' nails, but all that told us was that it hadn't been given to them as a capsule.  I shook my head in confusion.  Nothing even connected the victims apart from the fact that they had all recently moved into their residences. 

Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped open and he sat up with a grin, looking over at me.

"Jimson Weed."

"Jimson Weed?" I echoed, hoping that he'd elaborate. 

"It's what they were poisoned with John. So simple! How hadn't I noticed that earlier?" Sherlock said while standing and starting to pace around the room.  I frowned slightly and shook my head.

"How did you come up with that?"

"The lack of data, that's how." Sherlock threw out with a wild grin, his grey eyes lit up like a child's.  "The victims were killed by a plant in the Nightshade family, it's the only way to get that combination in those amounts.  But there was no poison found inside the flat."

"Right, so how do you get Jimson Weed from that?" I asked, not following his train of thought.  Not that that was entirely unusual, but he normally got to the point by now.

"Because there is no other poison from that family that wouldn't kill you quickly."

"But how does that-"

"Don't you see John?  We couldn't find any traces of the poison because there were none.  Jimson Weed can take anywhere from 24 to 48 hours to start to take effect and by then, the victims threw out whatever they'd eaten that had the poison in it.  And that's assuming it had some type of container or wrapping.  And I know they ate it themselves because they had poison under their nails. And the evidence at the last crime scene basically told us everything!" Sherlock rattled out, coming to a stop in front of me and the crime scene photos.  Seeing me still looking confused, Sherlock threw his hands up in mock frustration.

"The symptoms of Jimson Weed poisoning John, do you know what they are?"

"Nausea, increased heart rate, and vomiting?" I said with hesitance, trying to pull up what I knew about obscure plant poisonings I had learned back in Uni.  It wasn't a normal subject to cover, but we had been taught the basics in case we had to deal with children accidentally eating something.

"Hallucinations, dizziness, and fever as well." Sherlock added, giving me a smile and a nod, happy with my answer.  "The last victim was found wrapped up in blankets, a trashcan on the left side of the couch. Why?"

"Because he was chilled?"

"Wrong.  He was cold from a fever.  The trashcan near him was because he was feeling nauseous.  I should have realized it sooner." Sherlock said with a frown as he picked up some of the photos from the other crime scenes.

"This still doesn't tell us much about the killer though." I threw out, hoping that I might be wrong.  Sherlock's silence affirmed my words. 

"Anyone can get Jimson Weed fairly easy." He said after a few more moments.  "It's a common weed. Grows everywhere.  And anyone can look up on the internet to find out it's poisonous and how it affects a human body."  Sherlock threw down the photos and grabbed his coat from the hook by the door.

"Come on John, we need to go back to the recent scene and take a look through his trash."  I sighed at the thought of digging through days old garbage, but didn't object as I grabbed my own coat and followed him out the door.  I would always follow him out that door.  And truthfully, I'd touched a lot more disgusting things than someone's old trash. 

As we stepped out of the cab in front of Clarence's flat, my phone buzzed.  I quickly pulled it out as I followed Sherlock into the flat and under the crime scene tape on the door.

_Any chance you'd be up for some lunch?_

I shut the door behind us as I responded, watching Sherlock head straight to the trashcan in the kitchen.

_What about dinner? I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. -JW_

_Sounds great.  I'll meet you at your place at 6?_

_I'll see you then. -JW_

I barely had slipped my phone back into my pocket before Sherlock had pulled the trashbag from the bin. 

"Don't just stare John, go get the others around the flat.  We'll need to look through all of it."  I nodded and quickly gathered up the rest of the trash, managing to fit it into only two bags.  I carried them back into the kitchen to see Sherlock digging through the cupboards. He stopped when I returned, and scooped up the bag he'd gotten, an excited look on his face.

"Let's go then."  I raised an eyebrow in question.  He rolled his eyes as if it was obvious where we were taking these bags of trash.

"To Bart's. Do keep up John." He said before striding out.  I followed him and made it outside as he hailed a cab.  I'm not sure how he managed with trashbags at his side, but one pulled over and he tossed all the bags into the trunk as I got in before he followed. He quickly gave directions for Bart's and we started off.

_Forgot to mention, but have fun with Sherlock._

I glanced down at the text message in surprise, wondering vaguely how she'd known that I was with Sherlock when he suddenly spoke.

"What did Alice say?" He sharply asked, giving me a look that was basically a glare.  I frowned, getting defensive quickly. 

"How'd you know it was her?"

"You looked down at your phone and smiled.  It's hardly that difficult to work out when you haven't been chatting with any other women recently." Sherlock said pointedly before continuing.  "What did she say?"

I bristled at the demand.  Who did he think he was demanding to know what I was texting someone about?  Why would he even want to know-

I paused in my thoughts, taking another look at Sherlock.  He was drumming his fingers on his thigh, looking at me quickly before looking away, his mouth set in a straight line. Distracted.  Was...he jealous?  The thought of him being jealous over me had me chuckling suddenly, a glare of his turned in my direction.

"What is it now?"

"She said to have fun with you." I retorted with another laugh, turning my gaze away from Sherlock as the cab pulled up to Bart's.   He looked genuinely surprised as we got out of the cab.

He didn't say anything about it though. All too soon we were in the basement of Bart's, in a side room off from the morgue, the contents of the trash bags poured out and onto the table.  I pinched my nose shut against the smell as Sherlock put on gloves and started picking through everything.

"Come on John.  You nose will acclimate in a few minutes."  He said without sympathy for my poor nose.  I grimaced, but put on gloves and started sorting out the trash as well.  We separated the piles into things that were put in containers, and plain food scraps.  Once that was done, Sherlock started taking samples of anything that dealt with food.  He meticulously bent over every scrap or carton and carefully took samples and placed them on a rack to be tested. 

Finished sorting, I peeled off the now disgusting gloves and leaned against one of the counters, finding myself watching Sherlock as he continued to work.  Alice's text message replayed through my mind as I watched his pale fingers move with precise experience.  Have fun with him. I felt the need to laugh at that, though I didn't out loud.  If only she knew what 'fun' with Sherlock normally meant.  Chasing criminals through the streets of London, ducking into alleys, or fighting with him to stop putting body parts next to food in the fridge.   But Alice didn't know that I called that fun with Sherlock.  So what had she been implying?  My mind drifted. 

She'd implied that we were a couple (we weren't).  So what did normal couples do?  I pictured myself and Sherlock talking a stroll, holding hands, and shook my head at the silliness of the idea. Sherlock wasn't someone who would hold hands.  Sherlock was...well Sherlock.  It was weird to picture him doing any of the normal romantic things a relationship called for.  I looked back at his face, staring for a moment as I tried to picture him kissing someone.  All too suddenly I found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to feel him melt into my touch and-

Oh god what was I even thinking.

I felt myself flush as I tried to force away the vivid images that had been in my mind.  Thankfully, Sherlock was still preoccupied with the samples.  I pulled my eyes off him and glanced down at my watch, sucking in a breath. Had we been here that long?  If I didn't leave now, I'd be late to meet Alice for dinner. 

"Go on.  I'll be fine without you for the time being." Sherlock suddenly said, making me slightly start at the sound.  I gave him a confused look, not sure if I wanted to know how he'd known.  I cleared my throat awkwardly and nodded.

"Thanks.  Text me if you need me.  I'll see you back at the flat then."  Sherlock nodded slightly in response, not even taking his eyes off the rotting banana peel in front of him.  I nodded back, fidgeting slightly before I turned and left, heading back to our flat.

I made it back in time to take a quick shower and wash the smell of garbage off me.  I faintly wondered as I pulled on a jumper and pants if what I was wearing was too casual, but I wasn't even sure this was a date, so hopefully she didn't mind?  She hadn't said it was a date.  I mean, she'd even been the one to ask me to dinner (well lunch).  Granted, I didn't think that she had to conform to social conventions, but she would've mentioned it, right?  Sighing and deciding that it would be fine, I grabbed my coat and was pulling it on as the knocker downstairs rapped out a small pattern. 

I went downstairs and opened the door to see Alice, bundled up in a deep blue coat that I realized matched the color of her eyes.  She smiled when she saw me and I stepped outside to join her.

"I almost thought you'd get caught up in whatever you two were doing and would forget." Alice said with a soft laugh that didn't entirely reach her eyes.  I turned to lock the door, wondering briefly how often people had forgotten about her that she couldn't quite joke about it.  I composed myself and was smiling though as I turned back around.

"Sherlock is pretty distracting." I said nonchalantly, smirking back at her as she laughed.

"Please, spare my mind the details. So where shall we go?  I'm still working out where everything is around here." 

"I know a great Italian place that isn't too far a walk.  How does that sound?" I offered.

"That sounds wonderful." Alice replied, indicating with a hand for me to lead the way. 

As we walked, we chatted about little things, the conversation flowing easily.  Alice was very animated once she started talking.  Her hands moved in big motions as she explained things and I laughed along with the stories she told.  But when she listened to me, it was as if she'd remembered something that was bothering her.  I noticed that more than once she glanced behind us as we walked.  And her eyes weren't quite there.  She looked distant.  I almost asked her if something was the matter, but we had arrived in front of Angelo's by that point and so I dismissed my thoughts. 

Of course, as soon as I entered Angelo saw me and came over to clasp my hand and introduce himself loudly.  Alice flinched so very slightly that I almost thought I had imagined it.  She hid it well with a bright smile.  

"So will Sherlock be joining you?" Angelo said with a grin and a look at me.  I saw Alice start to chuckle out of the corner of my eye as I shook my head. 

"Not this time.  It's just me and Ms. Parker." I said quickly.

"Dr. Parker, actually. And we're just friends.  I'm new to London and John's being a gentleman by showing me the best place to eat around here."  Alice smoothly said, a kind smile on her face that made me blink in surprise. Angelo beamed.

"Dr...?"

"Would a booth be fine?" Angelo spoke as I did, glancing between us. 

"Of course." Alice replied before following Angelo as he walked away.  As soon as we were seated, we shrugged out of our jackets and I just had to ask, not bothering to look at the menu.  I knew what I wanted already anyways.

"You have a doctorate too?" I asked with genuine surprise.  After all, she had introduced herself to Sherlock and I otherwise. She nodded, looking slightly shy as she looked out the window. 

"Yes.  I've only had my degree for a little over a year.  I'm a child psychologist and well, sometimes people don't have the best connotations with them." She said with a small shrug.  I nodded in understanding.  I was glad that Sherlock hadn't been able to deduce what her profession was just yet because he surely wouldn't have liked this bit of information.  He never told me what his childhood was like, but on the few occasions therapists or psychologists were mentioned, he'd been very quick to berate or belittle them.  Alice gave me a soft smile.

"Exactly.  People get that look." She said with a gesture to me. I blinked in surprise.

"No-I was just thinking of how Sherlock would react. I don't have any problems with psychologists." I hurriedly babbled out, trying to make sure she didn't get the wrong idea.  Her smile became a bit more real.

"Ah. Well. That's good to know.  I'll try to keep it from him then.  I'm guessing he had a hard time with them when he was younger, didn't he?"  Alice said while turning her eyes down to the menu.  It didn't stop me from seeing the pained expression on her face.  I was surprisingly touched. 

"He hasn't said anything to me about it -like he ever would, the git- but I think so." I narrowed my eyes, hearing in my mind the way he always spat out the word sociopath as if it was some type of barrier that'd been thrown upon him unwillingly in the first place.  Donovan's 'freak' came to mind as well. 

"He hasn't talked to you about it?" Alice's surprised tone made me glance up from the menu, confused.

"He hasn't. Wait, why?"

"Interesting." She cryptically said, looking a bit intrigued by what I'd said.  I was about to question her when Angelo walked back over to take our orders.  Alice smiled and ordered, folding her menu with a small movement before handing it to Angelo as I ordered.  I gave him my menu and waited until he walked away before looking back at Alice.  I was about to ask her what she'd meant when she suddenly spoke. 

"So how's the case going?" She said with visible interest before blinking like she'd done something wrong.  "I mean, if you're allowed to talk about it. If you aren't that's entirely fine though it's just-"

"I can talk about some of it." I said with a small laugh, waving a hand dismissively in the air. She looked relieved, and then her eyes lit up with interest again as she waited for me to continue.

"Well...we were able to figure out how the killer murdered the victims. No. Not how exactly, but with what."

"How doesn't that equal how?" Alice tilted her head. I frowned as I thought about it myself.

"The victims were poisoned.  Sherlock deduced what type of poison, but we can't figure out how it managed to get into their systems in the first place.  Their flats weren't broken into, and it's unlikely they were given it else ware. Sherlock's looking through their garbage to find any traces or connections." I said with a bemused shake of my head.  Sherlock was probably going to be at Bart's until late into the night.  He was going to have a crick in his neck from being hunched over in the morning. Alice was nodding.

"That is a problem.  Not a family member or someone with a key that could get in?"

"No, all the victims weren't related.  No connections."

"Someone they all let in then? Someone they all knew?  It wouldn't be hard to lock the door before they left." Alice bounced off me, the idea piquing my interest.  I wasn't sure if Sherlock had thought of that as an option, but I sure hadn't. 

"That's...one second." I said as I pulled my phone out and sent a quick text to Sherlock.

_What if the victims let the murderer in? Someone they all might have known? -JW_

I set my phone on the table and thankfully Alice didn't look like she minded.  I didn't want to miss a response from Sherlock.

"Who would they all possibly know though...?" Alice's trailing question made me glance at her.  She was staring out the window, a look on concentration on her face.  I watched her for a moment and then snapped out of it as Angelo came back with our food.  It was steaming and smelled delicious, and Alice eyed it approvingly as it was set down in front of her.  She thanked Angelo and then we both started on our food, the conversation pushed to the back of my mind. 

I kept the rest of the meal's conversation light, enjoying how easy it was to get lost in a conversation with Alice.  It wasn't like talking to Sherlock, with his whirlwind train of thought and how I was always trying to follow.  It wasn't laced with deeper emotions like talking with Sherlock was either.   It was just...simple.  We were chatting like good friends and I couldn't stop smiling at that idea.  I sincerely realized that I didn't mind having just that.  After many a failed date it was almost relaxing to realize that I didn't want to take things any further, and I was content with the thought of a friendship.  Especially one that was outside of my work with Sherlock.  I chuckled as I realized that aside from a few rugby friends from Uni, I didn't have much of a friend base that didn't deal with Sherlock and the cases.  This would be a nice, welcome change. 

All too soon, both of us finished our meals.  Alice declined Angelo's offer of dessert, and so we both stood up and put back on our jackets.  A glance at my phone showed me that Sherlock still hadn't texted me back and I frowned. 

"I guess it had been a bad idea?"  Alice's question surprised me and I glanced up, a bit startled.  A bad idea? What had been-

"I'm sure he just didn't feel like reaching for his phone, even if he had it on himself." I said quickly, trying to dispel the sudden frown that Alice was giving me.  Her face lightened up at my words and I inwardly relaxed.

"He gets that absorbed?" The disbelief in her tone made me laugh as I turned and headed outside, Alice following me. 

"Absorbed is an understatement. He sometimes spends hours thinking things over, entirely oblivious to me or anything else in the flat."  Alice laughed, and I couldn't help but grin in response as we headed back towards our homes.  Our shoes and her laughter filled the next few beats until she managed to get herself back in sorts and threw a smirk my way. 

"Please tell me you've pranked him when he's gotten like that?" Her eyes glittered with mischief and I blinked in surprise.  I had never even given that idea any thought.

"I can't say I have."

"Drat.  I would've...oh I don't know.  Drawn something in sharpie on his face or put shaving cream on his hand and tickled his face. And then taken pictures."  Alice broke into a fit of laughter at her own words and I shook my head in bemusement at the childish ideas.

"I think I'd rather not get kicked out of our flat." I said after a few more seconds, unable to come up with any other response.  Yes, the idea was funny in retrospect, but Sherlock would probably just stare at me and act so calmly about the prank that it would end up not actually being funny.  Alice waved her hand dismissively.

"You really think he'd kick you out over that?" She looked over at me, raising en eyebrow when I didn't respond.  And she was giving me that look.  That look that I gave Sherlock at times when he was missing something entirely simple.  The look I gave him when it came to dealing with people and emotions and things he deemed too 'sentimental'. 

"You really don't see the way he looks at you, do you?" Alice said more softly before shaking her head.  I blinked in surprise, suddenly realizing that we had stopped walking.  A glance around me told me that we were already outside of my flat.  How had we gotten here so fast?  Alice was still staring at me as my mind reeled for an appropriate response.  Sherlock didn't look at me any differently than anyone else, right?  Granted, if I thought about it I realized that I was the only person he seemed to touch...but those were just simple things.  Brushing my hand with his when accepting a cup of tea.  Pressing a hand to my shoulder when we were chasing down suspects and hiding in an alley. Or even propping his feet on my legs when we were in the sitting room watching crap telly.  But that didn't mean-

"Good night John."  Alice snapped me out of my thoughts and I furrowed my brow.  She was standing a few paces away from me, turned toward her flat and smiling softly at me.

"I'll walk you back to your flat."  I hurriedly said, taking a step toward her.  She shook her head, rolling her eyes a bit.

"I'll be fine.  I'm not going to make you walk down to my place and then back here when I live so close.  That'd be pointless."

"But-"

"John. Thanks, but no thanks.  Also, Sherlock is watching us and I'd rather not have him think badly of me considering he's a friend of yours."  I sighed in defeat, giving her one more look over before I conceded.   She wasn't a weak willed person, she could take care of herself.  Though, I followed her gaze to our windows and frowned when I saw a swish of the curtains that proved Sherlock had indeed been watching us. 

"Okay then.  Well.  Have a good night Alice." I offered.  She nodded thanks, and then turned and set off down the sidewalk, her stride sharp and confident.  I waited until I couldn't see her before I turned and went inside myself.   

Upstairs, Sherlock was sitting at his desk, typing away on his laptop when I entered and hung up my coat. 

Wait a minute. That was _my_ laptop. 

I strode across the room and slammed it shut, snatching it away from him.

"Why were you using my laptop?"

"Mine's too far away."  Sherlock's eyeroll just fueled my anger. I glanced around the room, spotting his computer on the sofa.  Maybe four feet away from him.  I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. 

"Sherlock. Yours is literally right there.  There is such a thing called privacy and when it comes to my laptop I'd like to have that."  I didn't even ask how he'd guessed my password.  I really didn't want to know.  He frowned at me and held out his hand, waiting. 

"No. This time you can get it yourself. I'm putting the kettle on." I said sharply, taking my own laptop with me as I strode into the kitchen.  I somehow managed to find somewhere to set my laptop down on the kitchen table, making room on top of various pieces of paper before I started heating up water in the kettle. 

By the time I went back into the sitting room with two cups of tea, Sherlock had moved to the sofa and  had gotten his laptop.  I had half-expected him to still be waiting for me to hand it to him when I came back.  Instead, I handed him his cup of tea and glanced down at our hands as his brushed mine to take it.  Alice's words floated up in my mind and I frowned slightly.  It really didn't mean anything.  It couldn't.  Just Sherlock being Sherlock...

"John?" I pulled my eyes away from his hands, aware that I'd been staring.  Sherlock was giving me a curious look and I cleared my throat, moving to sit down in my armchair. 

"So were you able to figure anything out from the samples?" I asked, ignoring the look Sherlock was still giving me by casually sipping my tea.  He paused for another few seconds before he glanced back down at his laptop and started speaking, his voice slightly hesitant.

"I was in fact.  The latest victim had been poisoned through his tea." 

I froze at his words, my hand halfway to my mouth with my cup of tea.  I grimaced and set the cup back down on my saucer.  "How could you know that?"

"Tea leaves, John.  I found Jimson Weed leaves in a pile of tea leaves among the trash.  The victim must have made himself a cup without noticing the odd leaves and that's how it got into his system.  The problem is that Gray didn't think to collect the trash from the other victims'-"

"Greg." I said quickly with an eyeroll.  Sherlock paused and looked at me in confusion.  "His name Sherlock.  It's Greg."

"Pointless." He said with a flick of his hand as I sighed and he continued.  "So since the idiots didn't think to collect the trash, there is no way to know if the killer uses that method every time."

"So what can we do?" I asked with a tentative sip of my tea, glancing down at it warily.  Sherlock would know if it had been tampered with, wouldn't he?  He was drinking it himself, so it should be fine.  Sherlock frowned as he took another sip.

"We wait."


	6. Ten

The days trickled by, and before I knew it, it was the Friday before I started my new job.  I managed to get my flat sorted out and the moving boxes were now gone.  Satisfied, and feeling slightly jittery about starting work on Monday, I left for my morning walk.  It would be a shame that I'd have to switch my morning walk to the evening once work started.  Nothing was better than the crisp air in the morning.  Slightly chilly, but sharp and welcome as a wakeup call.

Thankfully, the rain that they were calling for today hadn't started just yet.  I relished this fact as I tugged my jacket around me a bit and watched various people lazily as I walked.  No one stood out this morning.  Well, aside from a few teens who were sporting some highly interesting hairstyles that were making me question the laws of gravity.  But other than that, my walk was blissfully languid. 

As I was passing that cafe I'd come to like stopping at, my thoughts drifted to John and some of the highly amusing texts that we'd been exchanging over the last few days.  I laughed a bit as I pulled out my phone, scrolling to re-read one of the more hilarious ones.

_Can't talk. Sherlock got bored and tacked strings all over our flat and is trying to maneuver through them. -JW_

_Why in the world is he doing that?_

_Apparently because infrared lasers are a possibility and he needs to have practice dodging them. -JW_

_Oh dear. He's just managed to get stuck. Gotta go. -JW_

I shook my head and realized I should probably watch where I was going.  I slipped my phone back into my pocket and put my eyes back on my surroundings.  My thoughts drifted, and I was glad to note that since that last incident, I hadn't noticed anyone following me or anything odd.  Even now, I chanced a look behind me and grinned when I didn't see anyone that might be specifically following me.  Just the normal babble of people to and from work and other various places.  Perfectly normal. 

All of a sudden though, I felt a liquid spill down the front of my jacket and I jumped, spinning my head back around.

"Oh gosh! Please forgive me I wasn't looking up and didn't see you there."  I looked across at a well dressed man, glasses slightly askew, briefcase held in one hand and a now empty cup of what most likely was coffee in the other. 

"It's fine, I really wasn't paying attention either.  It's nothing bad.  Just on my jacket, no harm done." I waved my hands, as if waving away his blame.  He gave me a frantic look and then glanced at his wristwatch before speaking again.

"No-no, it's not fine.  Here, there's a place nearby. Can I buy you a cup of tea or coffee? To make up for this. Please miss...?"

"Parker." I supplied, before taking another look at the guy as I decided.  A slow thrum of _No. Danger. Bad._ pulsed in the back of my mind, but he didn't look threatening.  He was scrawny really, a twig not much taller than me.  Wasn't a threat.

So I told myself to shut up and I happily accepted his offer.

That was why I ended up getting home quite a bit later than I normally would.  The sudden tea break had pushed my plans back and by the time I did complete them (by then my soiled jacket was put to use as a makeshift umbrella) it was edging into evening.

I unlocked my door and stepped into my flat, sighing into the early evening shadows that were making their way across the floor.  Such a beautiful time of day.  I flicked on the lights and set my bag down before I walked over to my washer in the other room and set my jacket down on top of it.  I promised myself I would clean it after I ate supper.  For now, my stomach was protesting the lack of food inside it.

I hummed softly to myself as I pulled up what I was going to make for myself in my mind and walked into my kitchen.

And that's when I saw it.

The white slip of paper on the table that made a shiver run down my spine, freezing me in place.

How had that gotten there? _Dear god no._ I stared at the slip of paper, forcing myself to walk over to it to see if it said anything.

I could feel the blood drain from my face and fingers as I read the number on the little piece of goddamn paper.  It was exactly like the one that had been taped to my door five days ago.  _Bloody hell it's a countdown. Getoutofherenow. Run. Now._

My body moved of its own accord and before I knew it I was grabbing my keys and phone and I was out of the building. 

It wasn't until I found myself in front of John's flat, shivering and soaking wet, that I realized I'd fled like I had so many years ago.  An impulsive reaction.  I knew I would laugh at myself for this later, but at the moment I could care less.  The little slip of paper shoved its way into my mind and I shuddered. 

How had that gotten into my flat?

My door had been locked, which meant that someone had broken in.  Even after I had the locks changed.  Nothing was even touched.  Just that little note that had me gripping my soaked shirt in fear. 

On my door was just annoying.

 _In_ my flat was terrifying.  Especially so when my mind felt the need to fly in every direction and pull up every horrid possibility of what that note might entail.  I bit my tongue to pull myself back to reality, and I stared at 221b's knocker for a few minutes, fighting myself to knock.  Just knock, John could help.  But what if he wasn't home?  Would Sherlock help? But I don't really trust him.  And what if he sees me as a nuisance? What if John does?  I really don't want to bother him.  Especially if he's busy.  I fidgeted in the rain, realizing that I was a mess.  John wouldn't even let me inside like this, dripping everywhere, hair plastered to my head and face. 

I kept hesitating, trying to raise my hand to just knock.  Knock or ring that dang doorbell. Faintly, I wondered if it even worked.  I had run into too many that hadn't.  So I had to knock.

Unable to bring myself to do so, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket and was glad to see that it hadn't gotten too waterlogged.  I shielded it with my one hand and hastily texted John.

_John. Aer you homw?_

I hit send before I realized the mistakes and then silently cursed myself.  I looked like an idiot already, I didn't need to sound like one either.  I waited  for a response, willing him to answer.  I didn't want to linger too long outside their door.  That would look bad.  Even though there weren't many people on the street.  And what if they were out and suddenly came home to find me just standing outside their door?  That would be bad. 

Mercifully, my phone buzzed in my hand after another minute.

_I am. Is something wrong Alice? -JW_

I let out a sigh in relief, resting my head against their door as I used it to shield my phone as I responded.

_May I come in?  I think I need your help._

My fingers shook slightly from the cold.  I'd typed that message almost three times before I managed to make no errors.  I didn't want John to think I was drunk.  I stared down at my phone, willing it to buzz again as time ticked by.  One minute passed, and then another slowly passed by as my teeth started to chatter.  A cool wave of disappointment started to rush through me as I debated heading home.  I shuddered at the idea.  There was no way I was heading back there tonight unless I had to.  A sudden click had me jumping slightly backwards, eyes flying up to look at the door that was now open.  John was there, staring at me with wide eyes himself.

"Jesus, what happened?"  John quickly asked, waving me to follow him inside.  Shivering, I followed and then carefully made sure not to touch the carpet past the doorstep as he shut the door and gave me another concerned look. 

"I...um..." I stumbled over words, trying to figure out how to explain the situation.  What happened John? Oh nothing much, just someone broke into my flat and left a tiny piece of paper on my kitchen table.  No threat, just a number.  I ran like a child and ended up here, without a jacket and soaking wet. 

You know, the usual.

I mentally slapped myself as I realized John was waiting for a coherent answer. 

"I think I need you and Sherlock's help."  I heard myself saying before I realized what I was indeed saying.  John raised his eyebrows in surprise, and I found I couldn't supply any more words.  Why had I said that? I mean, yes, I had eventually gotten around to looking up John's blog so I knew what he and Sherlock did for people but that didn't entitle me to asking for help like this.  Did I even need their help?  My thoughts flickered back to the paper and I shivered.  Yes.  I guess I did. 

"Right. Um...well okay then." John said hesitantly with a nod, his expression confused.  He glanced up the stairs toward his flat and then looked back at me.  "We should go upstairs then, okay?  And I'll get you some towels to dry off."  It wasn't so much a question as almost asking me for permission.  I nodded assent and let him lead the way up the stairs.  I followed after I left my water-filled shoes at the door. 

When John stepped into his flat, I followed, willing my clothes to stop dripping on the carpet.  Sherlock was sitting on one of the chairs in the main room, doing gosh if I knew what to a pile of leaves.

"John, please tell me you really didn't feel the need to drag in a waterlogged-Oh." Sherlock cut himself off as he turned around in his seat and spotted me.  I tried not to look away as his eyes raked over me. 

"Alice." He said as he kept staring, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes before he looked over at John, who had walked into another room to perhaps grab some towels for me. 

"Sorry." I apologized too quickly, gesturing to my wet clothes and the small puddle that was growing beneath me.  I shivered again as I thought about how cold I actually was.  But at least it was warm in here.  A fire was glowing in the fireplace. 

"What happened in your flat?" Sherlock asked with a narrow of his eyes.  I blinked in surprise, thrown off balance. How had he...?

"Sherlock." John's gruff rebuke sounded out as he came back into the room, a few puffy towels in his arms.  I gratefully took one and patted myself down to the best of my ability before I took another and wrapped it over my shoulders for warmth.  It left me awkwardly holding the first one and still terribly cold.  But at least I wasn't making a bigger puddle on the floor anymore. 

Thankfully, John took the towel I was holding before walking into the kitchen. "You might as well sit down Alice.  I'll make some tea."  I frowned, looking over at Sherlock -who was still staring- and then at the available seats.  Nothing wooden.  Anything I sat on would promptly get soaked.  I bit my lip a bit before I went and sat across from Sherlock, unfolding the damp towel around my shoulders and folding it up to set on the chair before I sat down.  It wasn't the best option, but it would do.  Though now my shoulders were protesting against the lack of heat.  I told them to be quiet. 

Sherlock's eyes watched every move I made as I sat down and then proceeded to try and not make eye contact with him.  The situation was already embarrassing enough.  I didn't want any more pity.  Though when it came to Sherlock, I doubt he ever gave much out.  Silence stretched out as we both listened to John puttering around in the kitchen.  Unnerving silence until the kettle whistled and I let out a small breath I'd forgotten I was holding.  John came back into the room carrying three cups of tea which he handed to Sherlock and I before he kept his and took a seat next to Sherlock.  My fingers gratefully curled around the warm cup and I sipped the tea despite knowing it would burn my tongue.  I sighed at the warmth that filled my stomach. 

"Now that John has finished playing mummy, will you answer my question?  I hate repeating myself, but what happened at your flat?"  Sherlock's tone was crisp and to the point as he spoke.  I glanced at John, who was giving Sherlock a small frown, before looking back at Sherlock. 

"Um, well I'm sure it's really nothing but..."

"Try not to prattle Alice.  Do get on with it."  I flinched a bit at Sherlock's tone, but shook my head and gathered my thoughts.

"I came home to my flat today and found a piece of paper with the number ten on it on my kitchen table."  I would not think too much about it.  I wouldn't be able to hold myself together if I did. 

"And this caused you to run out of your flat as fast as you could in the middle of a downpour to end up on our doorstep?"  Sherlock's sarcasm was thick.  I gripped my cup as John gave him a glare.

"Of course not.  But the fact that I found the same size paper with the number fifteen on it taped to my door exactly five days ago helped.  Along with the fact that my door had been locked."  A sudden change came over both John and Sherlock then.  A spark of interest flickered in Sherlock and he immediately sat up straighter, moving to the edge of his seat.  John flexed his one hand and looked at me with more focus. 

"Was anything taken from your flat?"  I glanced at John as he asked.  I shook my head.

"No, neither time." 

"Was there anything else on the notes?" Sherlock took back my attention.

"No, there wasn't."

"Interesting." Sherlock said with a smirk.  "So what did you come here for?  Other than the obvious fact that you know no one else and John is a protective and safe figure in your mind so of course you ended up here."  I blinked as he nonchalantly motioned to John as he spoke before I managed to respond.

"I-I don't know.  I didn't feel safe...I wasn't thinking..." I frowned at myself.  "I would like to ask for your help in figuring out what these notes are and why they're being left in my flat."  Yes.  That sounded solid and right.  Better than me saying what my body wanted to say.  That please don't make me go back to my flat tonight.  I wouldn't be able to take staying there at the moment.

"I accept."

"Wait, really?" John's exclamation of surprise beat mine. 

"Yes John.  We're getting nowhere with that other case and this one is just dull enough to give me something else to think about for an hour or so." 

"Okay then."

"Do you um...need to take a look at my flat?" I hesitantly spoke up. 

"Yes.  We should leave right now in fact and-"

"Sherlock!" John's sharp rebuke made me jump a bit and made Sherlock -who had been halfway to the door by then- freeze.  "I think that Alice is in no condition to go back out in the weather at the moment, nor back to her flat.  Nothing will be different if we go in the morning, alright?"  Sherlock frowned, and then dramatically sighed.

"Alright John.  But only because you want to have a shot at her."  A just as dramatic eyeroll accompanied these words and I blinked, too surprised to blush.  Though John covered that for the both of us.

"I do not-" John rubbed his hand over his face before seeming to give up as Sherlock strode down the hall and into another room.  "I am so sorry Alice he just-"

"It's fine.  I know you only think that way about him.  He's just dense." I said lightly, grinning slightly when I saw John's blush deepen.  He cleared his throat and stood as I finished my tea.

"Would you like to er, take a shower and get out of those wet clothes? If you're going to stay the night I'd rather not have you develop a cold from being soaked." 

"Oh no, I couldn't stay the night..." I said, though my mind was saying 'yes' happily.

"What, you really want to go back to your flat?"  Sherlock said sarcastically as he popped back into the room, carrying a blanket and a pillow that he threw down on the sofa.  I shuddered at the thought of returning home alone.

"Okay.  Yes. You're right. I don't want to go back there right now.  But I didn't bring any clothes with me."

"You're not much taller than me.  I can lend you something until your own clothes dry." John said with a soft smile before he pointed toward a door in the hallway.  "That's the loo.  I'll set some clothes outside the door for you while you're in the shower."

"Thanks." I said softly as I skittered around  him and ducked into the bathroom.  I shut the door and locked it before I let out a shaky sigh, trying not to pry by taking in everything around me.  I kept my eyes on the shower and turned it on, listening to the sing of straining pipes as I hastily tore off my wet clothing.  It dropped with a wet plop to the floor as I waited for the water to heat up.  I picked out my underwear from the soaked pile and looked around for a place to let it dry.  I wasn't expecting John to provide that much.  (And quite frankly, I'd be extremely shocked if he had women's underwear on hand.)  I finally chose to use a hook that hung from the back of the door, nodding in satisfaction before I walked back over to the shower and stepped inside.

Hot water rolled over my chilled skin and my body melted into the feeling.  Goosebumps raised on my skin as my body soaked up the heat and I brushed my hands over my arms and legs in effort to warm them.  Satisfied, and suddenly a bit wary of using too much of their warm water, I hurriedly glanced around for some shampoo.  I found one bottle on either side of the shower, and stared a bit as I realized that one was woman's shampoo.  Or at least, it looked as such with the decorative bottle and fruit labels stuck to it.  The other looked like any other regular brand.  What in the...?  Surely John didn't use such a fruity shampoo?  But that meant that Sherlock-

I snorted with laughter at the thought that it might be Sherlock's shampoo.  Not that men couldn't use a 'woman's' shampoo, but the thought that _Sherlock_ used it was somehow hilarious.  It would explain the fluffy state of his curls though.  I shook my head, rolling my eyes at myself before I reached for the less expensive, non-fruity shampoo.  I would feel bad about using the other.  A small amount on my hands and soon my hair was a giant mess of suds before I let the water wash it away.  I did the same with conditioner and soap before I -sadly- turned the water off and shivered as I stepped out of the shower.

I hesitated as I looked at the two towels in the room, knowing it wasn't polite to use either.  I glanced at the door and unlocked it and looked out.  I smiled to see a towel and some clothes.  I quickly snatched it all up before shutting the door again and setting the clothes on the sink as I dried off with the towel.  I finally felt somewhat warm and I tried not to think too much about how cold my underwear was as I slipped it back on.  It would finish drying soon enough.   I hastily dried my hair as best I could with the towel before I picked up the lounge pants John had left for me.  I tried not to think too much about it as I slipped them on.

They were slightly short, but they fit.  The shirt was a bit big though.  And a glance in the mirror showed my hair to be in a giant mess of small waves and half curls.  I combed my fingers through the mess until it resembled something half-tamed before I nodded and stepped out of the bathroom. 

"Sherlock, you have to eat something."  John's exasperated voice greeted my ears as I wandered back into the main room.  John was doling out small cartons of takeout food onto three plates and Sherlock was moving the food onto John's plate when the man hadn't been looking.  John now seemed to be promptly dumping it back on as I stepped into view.

"Please Sherlock, it's been a day since your last meal- oh hello Alice.  Feeling better?" John switched his sentence and attention as he noticed me.  I gave him a sheepish grin as I took a seat in one of the chairs since Sherlock seemed to have taken the entire sofa.

"A lot.  Thanks." I said as I accepted a plate of Thai food.  I didn't recognize it, but at the moment I could care less.   "And you should eat Sherlock.  He worries." I said with a look over at Sherlock, my gaze soft.  Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"You smell like John." I almost spat out my mouthful of food at that, and John froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.  Oh my gosh that fruity shampoo _had_ been Sherlock's.  I couldn't help the fit of giggles that broke out.  Though in retrospect, that probably didn't help John who was giving Sherlock a flustered look. 

"Eat." John finally managed to say to Sherlock after he set down his own fork and shoved a plate back at Sherlock.  The guy begrudgingly accepted as I managed to get myself back in order.  The situation in the room lighter now, the rest of the meal passed with light banter between mainly Sherlock and John as I threw in a word here and there, content with watching.  In fact, I finished before either of them and was listening to their argument about tobacco ash when a movement on the armrest of my chair caught my eye.

A spider was suddenly there, not a few centimeters away from my arm, crawling slowly towards me with its long legs.  I reacted without thinking.  One second I was in the chair, and the next I was a yard away, gripping my chest as a flush of adrenaline shot through me. 

"Alice?"  John's worried voice broke me out of my shock.  I let out a breath, surprised by myself.  It wasn't that I was terrified of spiders so much as I just preferred that they not be on me or my things and that one had just surprised me and oh thank god I hadn't screamed.  I winced at the many memories of doing just that.

"S-sorry.  Spider." I said with a point to the offensive arachnid as it kept climbing over the armrest and headed toward the main cushion.  I heard one of the two of them stand, and saw John appear by my shoulder as I heard Sherlock stand. 

"Alice, there's nothing there."  John softly said as he rested a hand on my shoulder.  I frowned and glanced at him, seeing concern in his face.  Confused, I glanced back at the chair.  The spider had paused in the middle of it, plain as day.

"But it's right there." I said again, pointing again as I chanced a step closer to make my pointing more clear.  John's concern seemed to grow.  He walked up to the chair and pointed to the spider.

"Right here?"  I nodded.  "Alice, do you feel alright?"  I blinked at the question.

"Of course I do.  Why?  And can you please kill that spider or let it outside?"  John's eyes flickered up and down, looking me over.  Why was he doing that?  Couldn't he just get rid of the spider?  I mean sure, some people hated killing them but at least he could take it outside or something. And I would do it myself, but I had run into one-too-many jumping spiders for comfort.

"There's nothing here." John said with a frown that mirrored my own.  "See?" He suddenly whisked his hand over the cushion and I blinked as he sent the spider flying.  As I lost sight of it, I felt something touch my shoulder.

I screamed then.

As I swatted my shoulder and cringed away I belatedly saw Sherlock standing behind me, interest in his eyes.  _You're officially a loony.  Congrats._

"I'm-oh gosh I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"Fascinating."  Sherlock breathed with a wild grin as I straightened and glanced around.  The offensive spider had vanished from sight.  I barely realized that I should be annoyed with Sherlock for doing that.  John walked up and looked closely at me after sending a look Sherlock's way.

"What?"

"Bit not good Sherlock." John said softly.  Sherlock frowned.

"Alice, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes. Just surprised.  I'm jumpy, but I shouldn't have yelled.  Sorry."

"No need to apologize for Sherlock being an arse."

"I was only testing out a theory John."

"Anyways, how about you go try and get some sleep upstairs?  You can have my bed for the night.  Doctor's orders." John said with a smile.  But I couldn't take his bed.  After imposing this much, I certainly couldn't do that. 

"Don't be ridiculous, she can take my bed.  I hardly use it anyways." Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.  I frowned.  That wasn't better.

"Can't I just sleep on the sofa?  I'd rather not take either of your beds."  But it seemed like my words had gone unheard because John was facing Sherlock now, speaking sharply to him.

"You need to get a proper night's sleep!  She can take my bed."

"Oh don't be daft John, you know I'm not going to do that.  She'll have my bed."

"You haven't slept in days-"

"Exactly.  I can go at least another two without.  Whereas you can't." I blinked in surprise, caught staring at the both of them as they progressively got closer to one another as they threw words back and forth.  As amusing as this was, the day was starting to catch up with me and though it was a bit early, I did want to sleep.

"How about you two just kiss already and agree you both need sleep and that I can take the sofa because hell if I'm taking either of your beds."  I said sharply, forcing both of them to freeze and look at me.  John with a blush, and Sherlock with well, a frozen look.  John seemed to reign in his expression in and then he sighed, giving in.  Sherlock continued to stare.

"Okay. Just, fine.  I'm headed upstairs then." John said with colour still in his cheeks.  He walked off then, his left hand clenching at his side before he vanished up the stairs.  I winced and then looked at Sherlock, who finally seemed to be coming around.  He looked at me, then to the stairs, and then back at me after he heard a door shut.  His gaze was suddenly extremely focused and I took a step back.

"Why would you tell us to kiss?"

"Wait, what?" I stuttered, not having expected that.

"Kiss. Why did you suggest that?"

"I don't know. I'm tired and it got you two to stop arguing against me?"

"But _how_ did you know it would work?" Sherlock persisted, taking a step closer to me. 

"Because of how you two have looked at one another all night."  Sherlock frowned.

"Explain."

"What?"

"I need more data.  I'm obviously doing something that made it look like I had feelings about John in which case I need to know what that was."  I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why? So you can stop doing it? Because John seems to be pretty blind about it himself and he's doing the same thing right back at you." 

"Wait, he is?"

"You couldn't tell?"  I was genuinely surprised.

"As I said, I need more data."  He took another step toward me and I sighed, deciding that it wasn't worth the effort to not tell him. 

"You want to know how?  It's the way you two move about one another.  You're both entirely sure about the other's movements and that gives you a connection. But it's more than that. You know like how when a mother is at the store and she has her son or daughter following her around?" Sherlock looked confused at this, but I continued anyways. "It's like that.  No one, unless they know the pair, actually knows that they're related.  But by the way they orient themselves you can tell.  It's like there's an invisible tether between the two of them, even if they're not close together.  They belong to one another.  You would look at them and know without much thought that they're together, no question."  I pointed at Sherlock.

"That's what you and John look like.  You've got that invisible tether tying the two of you to one another.  I could see it when he stood to get tea and when you were talking to him as we ate.  Even just now, when he left to go upstairs.  I bet you know exactly what he's doing, and how long it'll take him to fall asleep.  But what I don't get is why you two haven't told each other how you feel."  Apparently, I had turned the conversation back on him.  I probably did it because he'd taken another step closer to me.  Yes, that was entirely it.  No other reason.  I wasn't getting slightly scared about how he was crowding me. 

Not at all.

"He's not gay."  Sherlock softly murmured with a glance to the side.  I blinked in surprise and tilted my head.

"Your point?" His gaze snapped back to me.

"My point is that I am atomically not a woman and thus he could not find me attractive-"

"He doesn't have to be gay to like you.  Surely you, of all people, would know that sexuality is not a solid, binary thing of gay or not gay, right? For all you know, he could be bisexual, or just heterosexual with a love for Sherlock, no one else." I shook my head, pushing down the many conversations I'd had with too many people about sexuality. 

"I am not stupid, Alice.  What I meant is that _John_ thinks he's not gay.  I could care less about assigning myself a social norm for whom I'm attracted to.  So he would never-"

"Never say never." I cut him off with a sharp look.  He narrowed his eyes, giving me a cold look-over.  "Tell him how you feel.  You'll never know if you don't tell him or ask.  And if he does, then you two can be even happier than now.  What's there to lose?"  I told myself to not think about how close Sherlock was.  I couldn't picture him turning this into a bad situation.  He was above those slimy actions.  He wouldn't.  I was being ridiculous to even think that. 

I froze when his expression sharply got darker than it already was and he stood straighter.  _Notathreatnotathreatnotathreat._ He wouldn't hurt me. John was upstairs. He wouldn't-

"What's there to lose?  The friendship of the only person that I care anything about.  I'd say it's not worth the risk." He basically snapped out at me.  I flinched.  He brushed his shirt down and then turned and left without another word.  I watched him vanish into the room at the end of the hall before he clicked the door shut and left me in the silence of the flat. 

I shivered and forced myself to relax and stumble over to the sofa that already had a blanket and a pillow.  My hands weren't shaking, I wouldn't admit that. 

_"Alice?! What did I tell you about taking the knives?"  I was crying, babbling apologies._

_"But I was scared!  I told you that anyone could just!"_

_"That would never happen.  Stop being silly.  Now go to your room."  I ran there in tears._

_The next day I slipped one of my father's pocket knives into my purse.  Walking home that day I found myself yanked into an alley and pushed against a wall.  The man demanded that I give him my wallet._

_Instead, I gave him my knife._

No.

I was safe here.  Much safer than I was back at my flat, for the time being.  I gripped the blanket on the sofa and sunk into it gratefully.  I should apologize to Sherlock in the morning.  I sighed into the room and then closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion from the day wash over me and carry me under. 


	7. To the Flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the long break between updates! I had a hard time deciding whose perspective to use for this chapter.

 I woke a bit earlier than normal, with a small ache in my left arm and the pieces of a pleasant dream flying away from me in all directions.  I frowned as I stretched and sat up in bed, trying to pull together the gist of the dream.  Good dreams for me were few and far between, and normally I remembered them better than I was right now.  Only the smell of chemicals and fabric came to mind.  Grasping at straws wouldn't do me any good though, so I let the dream go as I got up.

A few clinking sounds from the kitchen below had me pausing as I was pulling on my robe.  Sherlock never made tea.  Ever.  Then who was...?

Oh. Alice. Right.

How had I forgotten that she'd stayed the night?  I felt heat rushing to my face as the last conversation with her and Sherlock came to mind.  _"Why don't you two just kiss already..."_ I blinked in surprise at the thought and my reaction afterwards.  I'd actually thought -for a small moment- of what it would be like to just lean in and close the small gap between us.  It was probably a bit not good to be thinking like that though, and I had to leave before I'd stared at his mouth any longer.

Wait, _what?_

I grimaced and rubbed my hand over my face, frowning.  Where were these thoughts coming from?  A few more sounds from the kitchen caught my attention again though, and I resigned myself to a possibly awkward morning as I went downstairs and into the kitchen.

Needless to say, I was surprised to see Alice -back in her own clothes from yesterday- at our stove, frying up some eggs in a pan.  She was humming to herself, and there were three cups of tea on one of the few clear spots on the table.  Shocked, I just stood there staring for a moment before I heard a door open from down the hall and annoyed footfall before a _whumph_ signified that Sherlock had most likely flopped down on the sofa.  Alice flinched at the sound and then glanced over her shoulder towards it, freezing for a moment as she saw me and realized I was there.

"I found eggs." She suddenly blurted out, pointing at the frying pan with the spatula in her hand, her eyes wide.  I let out an amused laugh, shaking my head. I didn't see her sudden frown because I'd turned my head to glance at Sherlock on the sofa.

"I-I mean I know I probably should've asked if you even wanted breakfast or eggs but I just wanted to do something nice because you both offered to help me and I spent the night so suddenly and-"

"It's okay Alice.  I was laughing because you don't seem disturbed by our fridge." I smirked, thinking of the many people who had let out screams over the months because I hadn't caught them in time.  I turned my head back around and then frowned as I caught the tail end of a worried look on her face.  She turned back to the stove and just waved a hand.

"I mean, I am-was disturbed by that fridge.  I'm sure it'll come back to haunt my nightmares." I raised my eyebrows at this. "But I mean, it's just so absurd that I sorta just laughed at the absurdity of it." She paused in flipping an egg, tilting her head as she grabbed for the salt shaker near to her. "Absurd. Ab-suuurd. Gosh that is a weird word to say..." She moreso mumbled to herself as something in my mind clicked.

"Wait, not the shaker!" I said before lunging across the room.  Thankfully, I managed to tear the shaker from her surprised grasp before she'd put it on the eggs.  She gave me a startled look as I moved the shaker to the table.

"Allergic to salt?" She hesitantly asked.

"It's not salt."  A startled laugh escaped her and she shook her head as I opened a drawer and pulled out the container of salt.  I'd hidden it after Sherlock had put some similar chemical into the shaker months ago for easy access.  She was still laughing as I handed her the salt and she sprinkled some onto the eggs.

"I'm guessing you don't have cheese? I would look, but I'd rather not give myself more nightmare fuel."

"Surprisingly, I do think we have some." I said before opening our fridge.  I ignored the fingers in a pickle-like jar and the containers that seemed to be full of blood and turned to the shelf I'd dedicated to food.  The cheese was hiding behind an empty carton of milk.  I took both out and frowned at the milk as I handed the cheese to Alice. 

"Sherlock, why didn't you tell me we needed milk?" I called out, annoyed.

"Dull!" Came the reply and I sighed and shook my head before throwing it out and making a mental note to get some later.  When I turned back around, Alice was dishing what looked like cheese covered scrambled eggs out onto three plates.  I picked up one of the three cups of tea as she divvied the eggs, glad to see that she'd left all of them black because she didn't know what Sherlock or I would like.  I regretted the lack of milk and made up Sherlock's tea how he liked it -too much sugar and on a normal day, some milk- before walking into the other room to give it to him.  He took it wordlessly, not moving from his sprawled position.  I rolled my eyes, about to head back to help out Alice when she entered the room, balancing the three plates with her hands and arms.   

"John." She said with a nod as she handed me a plate.  I gave her a smile of thanks and went to sit down in my chair, my mouth watering at the lovely smell of a nice, hot breakfast that was a lot more than toast. 

"I'm sorry, by the way."

I glanced up in surprise when I heard Alice's soft words.  She was standing in front of Sherlock, holding out a plate without looking directly at him.  Sorry? Sorry for what?  I frowned, but watched as Sherlock gave her a glare and then huffed before sitting up and basically snatching the plate away from her.  Alice sighed and then sat down in Sherlock's chair, slowly digging into her own plate as Sherlock started eating his own.

He was actually eating the food on the plate in front of him.  I gaped, my own forgotten for a moment.  What in the word had happened between them?

"I'm sorry, but am I missing something?"

"Not at all John, why would you ask?"

"You're eating breakfast. Without me having to bargain with you."

"Transport needs sustenance from time to time John."

"Does he normally not eat?" Alice chimed in, giving Sherlock a once over with a small frown of disapproval.  No doubt she had noticed how he strayed a bit into the unhealthy side of the thin category.  Sherlock snorted at her comment and suddenly stood, leaving the empty plate on the table as he basically jumped over said table and grabbed his coat from the hanger by the door.  I hadn't even finished my plate, and neither had Alice from the looks of it.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Going to Alice's place, of course.  Get your coat John."  Sherlock said with a small grin, his eyes lit up with the usual touch of frenzy that accompanied him whenever he had a case.  I sighed and shook my head, knowing I really couldn't argue with him. 

"Alice I-" But I stopped when I glanced over at her and saw her downing the rest of her breakfast before taking her tea in one gulp.  I blinked in surprise as she sprung out of the chair in a fit of nervous energy and stood by the door.  I inwardly groaned and left the rest of my breakfast on the table before taking my coat from an impatient Sherlock. 

Coats on, Sherlock hurried down the stairs with Alice following behind and me bringing up the rear.  We trailed out of 221B and I made sure to lock the door as Sherlock took off down the street.  Alice, since of course she was taller than me, didn't have too hard a time keeping up with him, but I had to jog to catch up with them.

"How do you even know where I live?" Alice asked, slightly out of breath and with a look up at Sherlock.  He rolled his eyes as we neared the correct block and he rounded the corner toward her flat.  When she received no answer, she turned to me.

"Did you tell him John?"

"Not at all.  Or else he might have shown up at god knows what hour and tried to scare you away from me." I said with a small frown.  I had learned that one a few months back and had received a slap and a good handful of angry curses from my last girlfriend.  Alice frowned at this and then glared at Sherlock.

"Were you the one following me then?" Sherlock froze in his long stride at this, seeming surprised at the news.  I actually had barely heard Alice ask the question and hadn't managed to stop in time before I ran into Sherlock's back.  I huffed and backed up a step as Sherlock gave Alice a calculated look.

"When were you being followed?"  She seemed to have realized what she'd said and she blinked, a nervous look filling her eyes.  In fact, her entire posture changed and she seemed to be hiding in on herself. 

"Sorry, that was a stupid question."   She tore her eyes away from Sherlock and then started walking again, her flat in sight.  Sherlock and I frowned and then caught up with her.  Why had she avoided the question?  Had someone been following her on a regular basis?  If they had, we needed to know.  Especially because that might have to do with whomever had broken into her apartment and left that note. 

"Why avoid my question?" Sherlock asked as we reached her building and stepped into the common room that lead to the various flats in the building.  Alice flinched and shot him a quick glance. 

"Because I asked a stupid one.  Of course you weren't the one following me, you were in the flat with John that day when I freaked out."  She strode down the hall with a purpose, obviously towards her own flat.  Sherlock seemed to be trying to take in everything about the lobby as we trailed after her.

"Point taken, but why avoid me asking if there was another instance in which you found yourself followed?" Sherlock bounced back at her, unrelenting.

"There wasn't, okay?  Just that one time. Hence, dumb question." She snapped out, surprising me.

"Okay Alice.  No harm, we would just need to know things like that in case it pertains to the jerk that got into your flat."  Alice sighed, and then pulled out her keys as we stopped in front of a flat.  She quickly unlocked the door and then stepped aside.

"Well, here we are.  Try not to dig around in my bedroom?" She asked as she waved an arm for us to enter.

"No promises." Sherlock shortly said as he pulled out his pocket magnifying glass and strode into the flat like he owned the place.  I gave Alice a sympathetic look. 

"I'll make sure he doesn't." I offered, knowing full well that I really couldn't stop Sherlock if I wanted to.  Not when it came to cases and information.  Alice seemed to understand my look and she sighed, waving me ahead before she followed and shut her door.

Her flat seemed to reflect her, and I was only a bit sad for not having visited her sooner.  Things seemed to have settled into their places for her having only recently moved in.  Knick knacks lined some of the shelves, and there was a overfilled bookshelf against one wall of the room.  Piles of books were stacked next to it.  I walked over to glance at a few of the titles as Alice followed after Sherlock into her kitchen to show him the note.

To my surprise, most of the books were fiction; a strange combination of mystery, sci-fi, and -out of all things- youth novels.  I raised an eyebrow at this bit of information.  Turning away, I glanced around the rest of the room, trying to look for signs of someone else having come into the room.  But nothing seemed to be disturbed.  No pillows were moved, nothing was taken from any of the shelves, and even some stray tissues that had been left on the coffee table were still there. 

I made my way into the kitchen then, and found Alice leaning against a counter with Sherlock bent over a small piece of paper on the table.  He was muttering to himself. 

"-just a normal piece of paper.  Computer paper, bought from any general store from one of the most common companies.  Ink is the same.  Nothing interesting about it!"  He frowned and I tilted my head.

"What are you going on about?"

"The paper, John!  It's entirely boring.  No fingerprints, dust, dirt, water or blood.  It's just ordinary, dull paper with ink that any idiot could have bought and used.  No discerning flaws in the printing style so there isn't a specific printer it could be linked with if a printer is even found.  I hate the ordinary ones."  He muttered the last bit of the rant quietly, but Alice must have heard it because she frowned. 

"What do you mean?" She asked with a bit of hesitance.  I winced at what I knew was coming. 

"The hardest crimes to solve are the ones that are entirely commonplace.  The more complicated the crime, the easier it is to solve because of the things that need to be thought out and covered up."

"You mean that you can't help me?"  I glanced at Alice when I heard the small hitch in her voice.  She had her hands clenched around the counter she was leaning on,  her face twisted into a pained expression.  I immediately tried to calm her down, not wanting to see a friend upset.

"Alice he's Sherlock, of course he can help.  I am entirely positive that he will find whomever decided to do this."  I rested a hand on one of hers, giving her a sympathetic smile.  But unlike how I'd figured that would be calming, she basically flinched and slid her hand away.  Sherlock's words floated in my mind. _Paranoid._

"John's correct.  This just means that this goes from being a five to a seven."  Sherlock grinned as he turned around, the small paper in hand.  "You don't happen to have the first one that was taped to your door, do you?"  Alice shook her head.

"No, I threw that out days ago.  The trash has already been collected since then.  Sorry."

"Blast. There might have been a fingerprint on the back of the tape." Sherlock muttered to himself as he looked at the paper in his hand.  I tilted my head as I looked at it too.  Something seemed oddly familiar about it but...the memory floated away from me and I shook my head.  I was sure I'd remember what it was later.  A sudden slapping sound made me look up in surprise. 

Alice was wielding a rolled up newspaper and was glaring at her kitchen counter.  She looked triumphant, but when I glanced at the counter there was nothing on it.  Sherlock was dead silent, his eyes flickering over Alice twice before he looked at me, sending me a message.  Worried, I cleared my throat to catch Alice's attention. 

"Er, what are you doing Alice?" I gently asked, not wanting to upset her.  She blinked in surprise and blushed sheepishly as she let out a small laugh and set down the newspaper.

"Oh sorry, I just saw a fly.  I got it though.  Didn't want the bugger flying around in here."  She rolled her eyes and flapped a hand at herself, nonchalant. 

"There wasn't a fly there." I said slowly, flicking my eyes over her face, looking for signs that something was wrong.  This was the second time she had seen something that hadn't been there.  Though granted, she was more calm than last night.  She frowned and looked to Sherlock.

"You saw it, right?"

"Of course.  Though there was no need to kill the pest, it would have died in a day or so anyways." Sherlock replied, making me sharply look at him.  He had seen the fly?  I was baffled until I caught the glance he sent my way.  He'd been lying.  He hadn't seen a thing, but he wanted Alice to think he had.  Not sure where he was going with that, I looked back at Alice who was now grinning and nodding after being reassured.  She looked perfectly fine.  No signs that something was wrong.  Maybe she hadn't slept well and was just tired?  She didn't look as such. 

I was torn from trying to figure it out by Sherlock, who suddenly spoke.

"Did you ever leave your keys out in the open outside of your flat Alice?" She tilted her head.

"No, why?"

"Well because whomever broke into your flat indeed actually didn't break in so much as let themselves in.  No marks around the lock and the door's not been tampered with.  You say you didn't leave your keys lying around, which means they didn't copy your key.  And they didn't steal the spare because that's still in the back of your underwear drawer."  Alice blushed furiously at this and I felt heat rise to my face as well.  Her lips parted with questions but Sherlock cut her off with a raise of his hand.

"So it had to be someone who already had a key.  Could have been an old tenet with a spare, but the lock has been newly changed..." In a split second, Sherlock's entire posture went ramrod straight and his eyes widened.  He spun toward Alice and she stared at him with wide eyes.

"What is-"

"The locksmith." Sherlock said with glee, cutting Alice off.  I replayed the words he'd spoken in my mind and his train of thought clicked.  _Oh._

"Huh? What about the locksmith?" Alice said, a bit wary by Sherlock's sudden giddiness.  But then again, she didn't know that when he was like this it was a good thing considering he normally had figured out a lead for a case.  I smiled at the memories of him getting keyed up by a deduction and then running around like a child after the trail. 

"Don't make me repeat myself, the locksmith is the one who broke in!" Sherlock paced as he spoke and Alice frowned.

"But he was so nice.  I normally can tell when they're-"

"What was his name?" Sherlock cut her off again.  I sighed, shaking my head at her slightly annoyed look.  I should probably intervene before she started yelling at him.  I opened my mouth to speak, but Alice surprised me by shaking her head and rubbing her nose, a concentrated look falling over her.

"I'm terrible with names." She finally said after a moment, not looking directly at Sherlock.  He groaned in frustration.

"What! I'm really not!  I may not remember it, but I have a good visual memory.  Give me a moment with the phonebook and I'll find it for you." Alice said with a small puff of her cheeks.  Sherlock pouted back at her and I had to choke back a laugh at how they looked like two little kids in a mock war.  Sherlock proceeded to roll his eyes and flick a hand.

"Well, get on with it then." As Alice went to dig up her phonebook, I sat down at one of the two chairs in her kitchen, trying to sort out the facts in my mind.  Sherlock paced the floor with his hands under his chin, face scrunched up as he thought as well.  Why in the world would a locksmith let himself into her apartment to leave that note?  I could understand breaking in to steal something, but nothing had been taken and the note seemed more like a future threat and not a-

"You have got to be bloody kidding me." The sound of Alice's frustrated voice broke both Sherlock and I from our thoughts.  I glanced up as Alice rushed back into the room and all but slammed the phonebook down on her table. 

"He ripped it out!" She said, exasperated.  Confused, I leaned over the table and looked at the phonebook.  There was a page torn out under the L's, and Sherlock was flicking his eyes over the remaining pages. 

"Are you sure it was from the missing page?" Sherlock asked without looking at her.  She nodded.

"Positive.  It was under Locksmiths and that would have been on this page judging from the one before and after it.  And no, I didn't tear the page out nor has anyone been in my flat since then.  I don't exactly have that many friends here just yet, after all."

"I'm surprised he even thought to remove the page." I mused, slightly impressed despite the fact that the guy was obviously an asshole for doing this to Alice, and possibly others as well.  That nagging memory suddenly came back at the thought of 'others', but despite trying to think of anything I knew associated with that, I got nothing and it flew away again. 

"Yes John.  He planned all of this quite well it seems."

"How so?" Alice chirped, confusion coloring her face.

"Not many suspects would even think to remove their number from a phonebook.  As it is, it really is a stupid way to stop one from figuring out what the number was anyways.  All you would have to do is simply go out and purchase or borrow another phone book." Sherlock mused, his pacing starting again.

"Unless, of course, that this phonebook was the only one of its kind and thus tearing out the page would be expected.  But why go through the trouble of making a phonebook? No.  He didn't do that.  Must have tampered with one to make it look like the number had been there all along. Yes.  Most likely he did that and then slipped the phonebook into this room before you even moved in.  Was it here before you?"

"Yes actually. " Alice seemed slightly disturbed from this revelation. 

"See? All he had to do was make sure the other numbers didn't work so that you'd call him and then when he replaces your lock he has free entrance into your flat.  He most likely made himself his own key for it and then just had to let himself in when you were away and tear out the page in the book.  But why?" Sherlock said in a hurry, his pacing creating a beat upon the floor. 

"Oh wait! Geez, I'm an idiot." Alice suddenly said, pulling her phone from her pocket.

"As wonderful it is to hear one of you finally saying it yourself Alice, that has nothing to do with the matter at han-"

"Here!" Alice cheerfully said, cutting Sherlock off and forcing him to take a step back as she pushed her phone into his face.

"Recent calls list.  His is the second one down.  I haven't called anyone other than my mom since I called him."  Alice grinned and I had to give her credit, I hadn't thought of that.  And judging from Sherlock's reaction as he swiped her phone and hit call, he hadn't either.  I edged forward in my seat as Sherlock put the phone to his ear, counting the rings as he waited for the call to connect.  I wasn't prepared for Sherlock slamming the phone down on the table.  I caught Alice jumping out of the corner of my eye even as I admonished him.

"Sherlock!" He threw a glare that would have sent anyone else cowering at me and I held it, waiting for him to explain himself.  He sighed.

"The call disconnected.  Not even an answering machine, which of course makes sense.  The phone was most likely a disposable one."  I didn't like the way Sherlock started to grin.  "And that means that he's probably ditched it somewhere right after Alice's call."

"How is that a good thing?" I hesitantly asked.

"Because if Lestrade can trace the call's location, we can hopefully find the phone."

"Who's Lestrade?" Alice asked, and knowing Sherlock wouldn't fill her in, I did.

"A DI at the Met. He's the one Sherlock and I help with cases."  I watched the cog click into place in Alice's mind and she mouthed an O shape before furrowing her brow.

"Well if we have the Met's help, then why don't we just track the check?"  Sherlock froze in his pacing and looked at her.

"What check?"

"The check I paid him with.  I'm guessing he's cashed it by now so we should be able to-"

"You aren't as dull than I thought Alice!" Sherlock said as his eyes lit up.  Feeling that he was about to bolt, I stood as Alice glared at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"No time for that now Alice! Come on John, let's call on Lestrade for a favour." Before I could protest, he twirled around, his jacket swinging out behind him as he flew out the door.  I sighed, and rolled my eyes before heading after him, motioning for Alice to come along.  She followed and we went after Sherlock, though Alice did stop to make sure her door was locked.


	8. The Wrong Question

I never really did like cab rides, and this one was no different.  In fact, I would say that it was one of the worse ones considering I was in the front seat, flicking cautious glances over at the driver as Sherlock bounced his knee around in the backseat, impatient.  Occasionally, John leaned over and said something to Sherlock that I didn't catch, and I frowned slightly, feeling out of the loop.  But did that really matter on my part?  I mean, Sherlock was starting to piece things together and the weight pressing down on my shoulders lessoned a bit at the thought of catching this creep. 

Thankfully, the cab ride was short and Sherlock basically flew out of the cab when it stopped.  Surprised, I hurried after him, only realizing a moment later when I heard John muttering to himself that we'd left him with the bill.  I winced and mentally made a note to pay him back later.  For now, I just followed behind Sherlock and John as they walked into the Met like they belonged there. 

Neither one stopped to explain to anyone why they were there or where they were going, and no one stopped them either.  Dumbfounded by this allowance, I took the time to glance around at the layout of the place, only stopping when I realized I was the object of a few confused and curious looks.  Feeling out of place, I walked closer to Sherlock, almost hiding behind his height.  I was so distracted though, that I didn't realize that Sherlock had been speaking to John until we rounded a corner and stopped in front of a room and I caught the tail-end of the conversation.

"-and ah, here we are John."

"Sherlock, it doesn't look like Greg's here at the moment, maybe we should come back later?" Sherlock smirked at this and rolled his eyes.

"No time to wait for Lestrade."

"We can't just break in!" John whispered quickly, his tone reproachful.  I blinked in surprise and quickly looked around, feeling like we were breaking some sort of law by doing this.  Surely Sherlock wasn't going to-

"Of course not John.  No need to be barbaric." Sherlock drawled before holding up a pair of keys and quickly unlocking the door.  We all slipped inside quickly.

"Of course you would have a key.  Does he know?" John asked with a sigh as Sherlock strode over to the desk in the room and sat down in the chair by it.  I shut the room's door -feeling like I should- before I followed John over to Sherlock.

"Not anymore than he knows that I have a stash of his badges."  John groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before he shook himself out and stood at Sherlock's side, leaning over his shoulder to look at the computer Sherlock was using now.  I watched them for a moment, feeling the need to mention that wasn't it illegal to steal an officer's property like that but then again we just had let ourselves into said officer's office and that was probably worse.  I glanced around the room then, suddenly grateful that the blinds over the windows were drawn.  This felt entirely illegal and we shouldn't be here and of course someone was going to come knocking any second now because they saw us enter and then jail or-

"Alice, are you coming?" John's question had be looking up from where I stood, not having realized I'd zoned out.  I nodded quickly and walked over to them, standing on Sherlock's other side to get a look at the computer screen.  Sherlock was typing quickly, and things popped up on the screen in quick succession that left me reeling.  I only managed to understand half of what was popping up, but I could at least see that he was searching around various bank's records.  John occasionally murmured a word or two of help when Sherlock would pause, seeing something that Sherlock missed.  I wished I could help in some way, but when I looked at them both, working in tandem with an ebb and flow that balanced the other out, I kept silent. Suddenly, Sherlock grinned and pointed at the screen.

"There! There was a check that was cashed from your account under the name of-" Sherlock was cut off as the door to the room opened and we all glanced up with wide eyes at the two people that had stepped in.

"Sherlock?"

"What is the Freak doing here?" The two people spoke at the same time, though the man's face was full of surprise and the woman's of disgust.  I was confused by who this dark-haired and professional looking woman was referring to, and the more down-to-earth looking man beside her didn't seem to react to her words.  Puzzled, I looked from her to Sherlock and back, the anxiety that had flushed through me at being found out dimming as realization dawned on me.  I immediately frowned and stood up straight, speaking before I realized who I might be talking to.

"I'm sorry but the last time I checked there was no one in this room with that name unless it's _yours."_  I huffed out, noticing that Sherlock stiffened beside me and John stared.  The man at the door raised an eyebrow at me and looked at Sherlock as the woman let out an annoyed snort.

"And just who are you?" The woman asked while narrowing her eyes, straightening her posture.

"Dr. Alice Parker.  And you? Do you even have a name or are you just child that likes to walk around insulting people when you walk into the room?"  The woman's jaw clicked shut at this and silence stretched out in the room for a few tense moments before she spoke.

"I'm Sergeant Donovan, and I don't know who you think you are to insinuate that at the place where I work."  Hearing this, I suddenly felt all the color drain from my face.  She _worked_ here?  I had just said that to an inspector of the Met?  Shit.

"She at least has more brain cells than you." Sherlock tossed out calmly into the silence, and the man by the door hurriedly cleared his throat as the woman fumed and opened her mouth to respond.

"Sally, how about you go look into that file I sent you earlier today? I'll handle Sherlock."  The man patted her shoulder and she glared at Sherlock, but turned quickly and left the room.  The man shut the door behind her and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.  My hands felt clammy and I managed to collect my wits as the man walked over to us.

"So what are you two doing in my office, and please don't give me any crap or else I'll ask how you even got in here." The man said in a relaxed manner that immediately put me at ease.  The lines under his eyes spoke of a long day, but his posture spoke of an openness that reflected John's.  Sherlock had gone back to writing something down quickly on a piece of paper, so John answered. 

"Sorry Greg, Sherlock needed to trace something for a case we're working on.  I should've sent you a text.  I will next time."  Greg rolled his eyes as he walked behind his desk and leaned over John's shoulder.

"That's what you promised last time, yeah? But anyways, why are you here?"  I blinked when I noticed that Greg directed that question at me.  I frantically scrambled for an answer as I avoided his eyes, only meeting them when words began to tumble from my lips.

"I-uh, the case they're on is mine and well I got pulled along for the ride and I honestly thought we were coming here to ask their friend Lestrade for help with this.  I didn't think we'd just walk into someone's office."  I was surprised when Greg and John laughed, and Sherlock smirked ever so slightly.  Feeling like I'd missed something, I glanced at them frantically.  "What?"

"I am Lestrade." Greg said with a chuckle as I blushed in embarrassment like an idiot.  Of course. That would make so much sense.   He grinned and then became a bit more serious as he glanced back at the screen.

"So why are we looking up bank records?  Anything I need to know about this case?"  Greg said as Sherlock finished whatever he was writing down and stood up in a flourish that had John and me jumping back so as to not get hit.

"Nothing as of this moment.  If anything escalates from where it's at now, John will inform you."

"Hey wait I didn't say that I would-"

"Do you have any more information on the case you gave me Lestrade?" Sherlock cut off John, which made the smaller man sigh.  Lestrade furrowed his brow and shook his head. 

"Molly sent me the finished autopsy reports but that's about all we've got.  I'll send them over to you once I get a minute to sit down."  Sherlock nodded at this and then whisked himself out of the room.  John nodded at Greg and then followed.  I started to as well and then felt bad and dallied for a moment, bouncing back and forth on my feet before I turned back to look at Greg.

"Thanks and sorry again for intruding." I said quickly before I dashed after John and Sherlock.  I missed the way surprise colored Greg's face as we left. 

The cab ride back to Baker street was thankfully short.  Sherlock was practically bouncing in his seat the entire way.  I kept stealing glances back at him and John through the side mirror and smirked when I saw the look John was giving Sherlock when he wasn't looking.  The idiots.  Maybe if I mentioned it to John he might be more willing than Sherlock was.  I mean, they really would be so good-

"M'am? Are ya getting out?" I jumped slightly and looked over at the cabbie before looking out the window.  We had arrived back at Baker street and both John and Sherlock had already gotten out.  Scrambling, I fumbled my way out of the cab and caught up to John as Sherlock was glaring at their door.

"Mycroft." Sherlock muttered under his breath as he pushed open their door.  John turned to look at me with a soft smile. 

"We'll get in touch with you when we find something out.  Sherlock found a name so he'll probably kick his brother out and then spend the next few hours finding out all he can.  It should be safe for you to go home."  His smile was kind.  I nodded, and then turned to leave but paused, finding myself unwilling to actually go back to my flat.  I wasn't scared or anything to go home alone.  Not at all.  That would be entirely silly.

John noticed my hesitation.  His brow furrowed and he looked at his door before glancing back at me.  "Would you like a cup of tea before you go?"  My body relaxed at his offer and I turned back to follow him. 

"That would be wonderful."  A bit relieved, I followed him inside and upstairs to their flat. 

An interesting scene greeted us when we stepped inside.  Or rather, interesting would be an understatement for the way Sherlock was sitting in the one chair, bristling like a cat across from a well-dressed man with an umbrella at his side. Mycroft, my mind supplied.  The umbrella man, his brother.  I raised an eyebrow at the scene as John rolled his eyes and walked toward the kitchen.

"Pay no mind to them Alice." He said before he vanished from sight.  I carefully took a seat on the couch, feeling caught between the two brothers until Mycroft suddenly trained his eyes on me and Sherlock sunk into his chair, seeming to have lost the non-verbal fight.  Granted, I could understand that feeling a bit, I did have a brother myself.  But I did not like to be stared at by Mycroft.  His gaze was sharper than Sherlock's -if that was even possible- and it made me shift uneasily in my seat. 

"I don't believe we have been properly introduced  my name is-"

"Like you could be properly introduced without making everyone's stomach turn."  Sherlock interjected with a snap from his side of the room.  Mycroft sent a scathing glare his way before looking back at me, his feathers otherwise unruffled by the remark. 

"No need to be sharp Sherlock.  He might be your brother but he's still your family."  I threw out before looking back at Mycroft.  "You're Mycroft, I'm Alice."

"The child psychologist."

"Yes. Wait what?"  I froze, confusion coloring my face.  How had he...?  Mycroft was still giving me a calm look despite the chill that had settled on the room.  Dimly I noticed that John had returned with two cups of tea and was standing in the doorway.  My eyes flickered over to Sherlock. 

"Obviously you've managed to sit there so long that your brain cells have sunken into the chair.  Of course she's not a psychologist." Sherlock suddenly said with a flap of his hands, breaking the silence.  John unfroze and walked over to me, handing me a cup of tea as he sat down beside me, giving Sherlock a worried look. 

"If you can't even deduce her occupation little brother I think you might be the one loosing brain cells." Mycroft said with a restrained sigh without even looking at Sherlock.  Sherlock bristled, and the tension in the room rose.  Thankfully, John broke it.

"Does it really matter what she does?  And anyways, why are you here Mycroft?"

"Yes, shouldn't you be off running the British government?" Sherlock added in a bored tone, though his posture spoke that he was still agitated.  I sipped my tea and raised an eyebrow at his words.  The British government?

"Am I not allowed to visit my little brother?  I do worry about him John." Mycroft said with a glance at John.  Though he said he was worried, I wouldn't have been able to tell from his expression.  It stayed extremely neutral as he spoke and it was starting to throw me off a bit. 

"Normal people do normally phone ahead instead of just showing up in our flat." John said with a soft smirk, as if he's had this conversation many times before.  Sherlock sprawled on the chair he was in, about to retort something back when I spoke.

"Wait, is it going to rain?"  I asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit as I pointed to the umbrella by Mycroft's feet.  John chuckled, much to my surprise, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes. 

But Mycroft stiffened in his seat. 

I blinked at the almost imperceptible stiffen, and frowned.  I immediately realized that I had asked something that I shouldn't have asked, and that judging from the other's reactions, they didn't see anything wrong with what I'd said.  But I read body language for a living.  Granted, it was normally with children -Mycroft had been right about that after all- but most cues could be shifted to an adult.

Mycroft's was screaming _don't bloody ask about the umbrella._

"Probably not, Alice." John supplied a moment later, grinning.  "He just always carries it around."

"The insufferable fat pr-"

"Sherlock!" John cut him off with a glare that melted into both of them sharing a laugh.  The tension in the room ebbed ever so slightly and I finished my tea as Mycroft straightened his tie and stood.

"Well, as pleasant as this idle conversation has been, I really must be going.  Sherlock, please do remember to give Mummy a call.  She worries ever so much."  Mycroft said before picking up his umbrella and heading out.  I watched with a bit of worry as he left, noticing that he was gripping his umbrella handle deathly tight. 

"Good riddance."  Sherlock muttered from his chair before he sprung up and started pacing the room, muttering under his breath.  John sighed and I stood, setting down my cup as I realized that I should probably go.

"Thanks again for the tea, and everything John." I stuttered, fumbling a bit with my words as Sherlock snapped up a violin from the side of the room.  John stood and waved my words away. 

"No problem Alice.  Trust me when I say that this is more normal than you would imagine."  He gave me that warm smile that was at odds with the way I kept thinking of Mycroft and the way his hand had gripped that handle.  But I didn't bring it up.  It wasn't my place to pry.  Especially when it seemed as if John and Sherlock hadn't noticed anything odd.

"I'll give you a ring when we have something."  John reassured me as he walked me to the bottom door of his flat.  I nodded in thanks and then left, glancing at the sky as I quickly walked home.  I wasn't terribly religious, but I still sent a silent prayer to the skies that everything would work out soon. 


	9. The Sound of a Dying Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added times for the texts here because it helps things make a bit more sense. No idea if I'll keep this for later chapters.  
> Also, this one is a bit longer than the others. Enjoy!

His violin angrily screeched.

I groaned and rolled over on my bed, pulling my pillow tight over my ears in an attempt to drown out the sounds of a dying cat that soared up from the floor below me.  When that didn't work, I grumbled and sat up in bed, glancing at the clock.

_3:34am._

Jesus what _was_ Sherlock doing?  Granted, it wasn't odd for him to play his violin at night (and most nights I really did enjoy his playing) but tonight it was pure torture for my ears.  Sighing, I decided to head downstairs to see if I could break him out of whatever mood he was in. He'd been acting weird ever since his brother had stopped by -again, not that odd- but his mood hadn't gone away.  I had a nagging feeling that it had something to do with him finding out what Alice actually did for a living. 

Thanks Mycroft.

I'd tried to cheer him up over take-out and with some questions about Alice's case, but he'd just kept playing his violin, ignoring anything I sent his way.  Not even crap telly had enticed him to step out of his thoughts. 

As I stood I reflexively checked my phone -mainly to make sure Greg hadn't found anything new and tried to get a hold of Sherlock- and was surprised to see that Alice had texted me multiple times in the few hours I'd managed to get some sleep.

_John? -12:30am_

_Are you still awake? -12:31am_

_Is Sherlock okay? He didn't decide to drop my case because he found out did he?  -12:35am_

_I'm an idiot. Of course he didn't. You would have let me know if he had, right? Of course. -12:59am_

_John?  Did I thank you for helpign me yet? I can't remember. -1:45am_

_Thank you. -1:48am_

_And Sherlock too. -2:00am_

_John? -2:28am_

_... -2:29am_

_I should probabbly go to sleep. -2:31am_

_John? -3:09am_

_John. -3:11am_

_The shadows are moving. -3:12am_

I frowned in worry as I read over her texts, rubbing the back of my neck as I tried to decide if I should respond or not.  Her actions were starting to worry me, and her last message raised a flag in my mind that implied more than I wished that it did.  I set my phone back down on my nightstand though, hoping that she had managed to fall asleep. I didn't want to take the chance of waking her up.  A faint inkling of what could be wrong tickled the back of my mind, but I knew I'd have to look through some of my medical texts sometime tomorrow before I could be sure. 

The sound of a particularly horrid note brought my mind back to Sherlock and how I hoped the neighbors weren't going to come pounding on our door to complain.  I grabbed my robe and tied it around myself before I shuffled downstairs.

All the lights were off as I reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the living room.  Sherlock was clothed in moonlight, standing by the far window, his posture tense as he dragged his bow across strings.  I winced at the sound and shook my head.  He really needed to take a break.  This wasn't the productive playing that helped his moods.  No, this was something destructive and brooding and despite how much I respected his space, I knew he needed to stop.

Carefully, I crossed the room and set one hand on his left arm, touching his violin.  He didn't seem to register my presence, but he thankfully paused in his playing.  Relieved, I gently tugged the violin and bow from his hands, murmuring small words of encouragement before I set them back in their case.  He was watching me now, and when I turned back around I blinked in surprise at his expression. 

Confusion?  Sherlock was hardly ever confused, let alone confused enough that he allowed the emotion to show.  He was still hunched a bit over himself, and he hadn't even changed out of his dress clothes from earlier in the day.  The only difference was that now, his tailored shirt was pulled out of his pants and unbuttoned a bit more at the top, creases showing.  I found myself wanting to reach out and pull him to me, to straighten his back and kiss away that confused expression and let him know-

Kiss?  My mind mentally faltered as I realized what I'd just pictured.  I flushed, but hopefully Sherlock wouldn't be able to see that in the dim light of the room.  Not giving myself time to dwell on the sudden fantasy that'd popped out of nowhere, I broke the silence.

"Sherlock?"  I tilted my head as I tugged on his one sleeve.  Definitely not closer to me.  This wasn't the time to be thinking about snogging your flatmate that you didn't realize you sorta wanted to snog.  He looked down at me and frowned, seeming to shake himself before a mask slipped on and a calm look fell over him.

"What is it John?"

"Is everything alright?" I didn't elaborate.

"Of course.  Why wouldn't it be?" Sherlock's voice deadpanned, giving it an eerie quality.

"Well because of Alice's job and your pa-"

"It's fine John." Sherlock cut me off with a hard look.  Wait. Was he blushing?  I started in shock, not quite comprehending what my eyes were telling me.  He was entirely blushing.  But before I could think much longer on that, he brushed past me and strode out of the room.  A few moments later I heard his door click shut. 

I stood there for a moment after he left, trying to figure out the reason for the blush without much success.  A bit frustrated, I decided to just try and go back to sleep and leave it for the morning.  Thankfully, I didn't have clinic duty tomorrow, so at least I would be able to sleep in to make up for the lack of sleep I'd gotten thus far.  So I shook my head and went back upstairs to my room.  Without the sound of a dying cat coming from below, I was able to catch a few more hours of sleep. 

When I woke up again, sunlight was streaming into my room, and a glance at the clock told me that it was closer to noon than I was proud to admit.  Not entirely wanting to get out of bed, I forced myself out and downstairs to take a quick shower.  Clean clothes and a fresh shave later,  I walked back downstairs and found Sherlock in the kitchen, bent over his microscope.  It was relieving to see that he seemed to have showered and changed his clothes from last night-er...morning. Technically.

Dang technicalities.

Dismissing said technicalities, I put the kettle on the stove and leaned against the counter, looking at Sherlock.

"Good morning."  I said, not entirely expecting a response.  Sherlock stiffened in his seat and then sat up straight to give me a sideways glance.  His brow was furrowed and honestly I had no idea what in the world the look he was giving me meant. 

"Good morning John."  Sherlock said after a moment of clearing his throat.  Not expecting a response, I had half turned back toward the kettle and had to snap my gaze back to him at his words.  He was half turned toward me in his seat, but he was looking back at his microscope in a way that suggested that he was embarrassed about the action.  It reminded me immediately of last night when he blushed and thankfully the kettle whistled and broke the moment before I could feel my own face heat up.   What in the world was going on?  It wasn't as if I found Sherlock particularly more attractive than any other day-

I broke that train of thought off before it could finish as I poured us both tea and added milk and sugar to his just like he liked.  Of course I originally had found Sherlock attractive when I'd first moved in, but more in the 'I know you look nice I can appreciate that' way.  Not in the 'Oh hey maybe we could date' way.  I frowned as I stirred his tea.  I didn't look at men that way, did I?  Surely not before now though I couldn't say I hadn't given it a try when I was younger.  It just hadn't been my thing.  I glanced up at Sherlock as I turned around with our tea in my hands, looking him over as he was turned back to his experiment.    

I walked over to the table and placed his tea near him, my fingers brushing against his arm as I did so.  Unlike normal, he glanced up at me as I did this and I found myself staring into his eyes, my face threatening to flush at the sudden connection.

"S-so what're we looking into today?" I quickly said as I sat down in the chair next to him, hiding my face behind a sip of scalding hot tea.  My tongue called me a bastard for hating it so much, but I was more focused on trying to hide the fact that I'd almost blushed from looking at Sherlock.  He stared at me for a few more moments before he took a sip of his tea and turned back to his microscope, speaking as he turned the dials. 

"Donald Moore."  Sherlock clipped out, much to my confusion. 

"Who's that?"  Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to face me, sighing as if it was extremely obvious.

"The name I got from Lestrade's computer yesterday.  Were you not paying attention?"  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he continued talking with a wave of his hand, cutting me off.  "Donald Moore was the name from the bank account I got, which came with an address.  It's unlikely that it's his actual address, but I wanted to check it out in case he really was stupid enough to use his real address." 

I smirked at that and nodded.  I wouldn't be surprised if it was his real address. We had run into a lot more clueless criminals over the months.  One even went so far as to try and stop the CTCV cameras from finding out who he was by spray-painting them.  A pretty good idea, except that he had walked straight up to them in clear view to do the deed as if the cameras wouldn't catch him doing that.  I chuckled at the memory and Sherlock gave me an odd look.  Feeling self-conscious, I cleared my throat. 

"Were you able to find anything else about him?"  Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. 

"Not terribly much.  There's nothing about him on the web and I couldn't find him in the phone book."  I raised an eyebrow at this and Sherlock gave me a pout that looked a bit too adorable for me to be comfortable with myself because I'd labeled it as _adorable._   

"If you must insist John, I found exactly 14 numbers with the name Donald Moore and proceeded to call them.  Ten of them went to a family number, three were picked up by a teenager, and the last did not connect.  Not to mention that none of them matched the address that was given."  I was surprised to hear that he'd called that many people so fast, so I just nodded and then took another sip of my tea.

"Well.  Okay then.  So we're going t go check out the possibly fake address for clues?"  Sherlock gave me a look that said I was an idiot for even asking that.  I smirked, glad that he seemed to have passed out of his bad mood from last night (morning) and finished my tea. 

"When are we leaving?" This caused Sherlock to grin.

"Right now."  He said before he bounded out of his seat and swirled into the living room.  Flustered at the sudden movement, I set my tea down and caught up with him as he was pulling on his jacket.  He threw me mine as I opened my mouth to protest.

"No time John!  The day's already halfway over!" He said with a smirk before he turned and was out the door and down the stairs.  Rolling my eyes at him, I slipped on my jacket and followed him out.  It wasn't until we were in a cab, halfway to the address, when I realized that I hadn't grabbed my phone or my gun.

"Sherlock, did you bring your phone?"  He turned away from the window and considered me for a moment before he answered.

"Of course.  One of us has to remember to bring one." He said before he turned his gaze back out the window.  I sighed, knowing that it wouldn't be worth it to insist that he had dragged me out of the flat before I had a chance to grab mine.  Instead, I just let the rest of the ride pass in silence, glad that we had a way of contacting Greg if things got out of hand. 

The cab dropped us off in front of a house that resembled the ones next to it and for all intents and purposes, looked to be an average, family home.  Glancing up and down the street for any watchers, I followed Sherlock as he walked up to the front door and peered in through the glass panels that framed it.  Feeling nervous, I kept trying to pick out if any neighbors were watching us when Sherlock suddenly broke the silence.

"Don't mind the alarm."

"What?" And before I knew it he had opened the door and a piercing alarm rang through the air.  I flinched.  "Sherlock! What are you doing we're going to get caught!" I furiously whispered even as I followed him inside.  He was already standing in front of a monitor on the wall and was pressing buttons.

A moment later, the alarm stopped.

I let out a sigh in relief and shut the door behind me, still angry.  Sherlock glanced my way and gave me a bored look. 

"I did say not to worry about the alarm." 

"You could have given me more warning."  I snapped out in frustration before I managed to reign it in.  Sherlock watched me until I raised a hand to stop him from saying whatever he was about to say as an excuse. 

"Nope.  Don't even try.  Just tell me what we're looking for.  I don't want to be here long enough for any curious neighbors to come knocking."  I said with a shake of my head. 

"Fine.  Look for anything that seems like it shouldn't be here." 

As if that wasn't a vague order.  But this was Sherlock, and I knew he wouldn't give me anything else to work with.  He promptly turned and vanished into another room, so I followed suit and went toward the kitchen, feeling terribly intrusive.  The kitchen looked entirely normal, which of course wasn't any help.  Flowers hung from the walls and a few were scattered sparsely in a vase on the one counter.  The fridge sported pictures of children and one or two of a pair of women, happily smiling over a set of kids.  I frowned at this, a growing sense of unease filling me as I realized that yes, this was most likely a fake address.  Spinning around, I rushed out of the room and went to find Sherlock. 

He wasn't on the first floor though.  I hesitated going up to the second floor.  Going up there was like cutting off any route we had to escape if the need arose.  But then again, if this was the house of a couple that both worked then hopefully they'd be gone for a few more hours.  Deciding that I might as well go up and join him (or else I'd be fidgeting until he returned), I ascended the stairs quietly, wincing when a stair creaked. 

I found him in the hall, seeming to have just stepped out of one room. 

"Sherlock, I think this is the wrong house."  I whispered quickly, trying not to imagine hearing the sounds of keys in the door form below. 

"Of course this is the wrong house John."  Sherlock said casually as he started walking toward other rooms in the hall.  Surprised, I tailed him, trying to get him to stop.

"Then why are we still here?  What if one of them comes home?" 

"Neither woman should be home for a few more hours, judging from the work schedules in their desks.  And we need to figure out if there's a reason why he choose this address as a fake one."  This statement didn't make me any less nervous about being found out. 

"Sherlock, he probably just chose this address at random.  We really should go-"

"John! Look at this, it's a-" He was cut off as he bounded into a room by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway downstairs.  I froze as a rush of adrenaline shot through me before I went after Sherlock.  He was staring down at a picture, but I didn't have time to look at it before I yanked him toward the door of the room by his coat.  He stumbled, and then snapped to attention as we heard a car door slam.  Trying to think of a way out of the situation, I dragged Sherlock down the stairs and then faltered, knowing we couldn't exit through the front door.

I suddenly felt a warm hand around mine and looked back to see Sherlock pulling me toward the kitchen.

"Back door." He whispered before he continued leading me until we reached a door at the back of the house.  I could hear the front door being unlocked as we slipped out and into the safety of the backyard.  Sherlock released my hand -the sudden coldness felt oddly wrong- and then glanced around quickly before he darted over to the fence in the yard, motioning for me to follow.  We then proceeded to crouch and run along the fence, keeping ourselves lower than the windows of the house until we reached the sidewalk.

I straightened up with a short laugh, relieved that we had managed to get to the front of the house without being seen.  I turned to look back at Sherlock, but he was suddenly at my side, grabbing hold of my hand again and tugging me along the sidewalk.  Thrown off by this, I blindly followed him, looking up at his face in confusion.  He was smiling at me, in that fake I-am-trying-to-look-like-I'm-smiling-John-do-go-along-with-it way that was honestly a bit terrifying.

"What are you doing?" I demanded quickly and quietly as we basically strolled past the house, holding hands.  Sherlock gave me a wider fake-smile, the expression seeming to almost be painful for him. 

"It'd look rather odd if she saw two men hovering near her house, doing nothing."  He clipped out with an almost imperceptible glance back at the house.  I cautiously followed his gaze and saw that indeed, the woman was looking outside from the one window.  So I went along with the ruse and put on a smile and pretended to laugh, looking up at Sherlock. 

When we had gone a few blocks and Sherlock deemed it to be out of her view, he released my hand and had his mobile out of his pocket in a flash, his fingers flying over the keys.  My hand felt cold.  I thought about that for a few moments before I realized that Sherlock was scowling at his phone.

"Sherlock?" I questioned, narrowing my eyes.  He shoved his phone back into his coat before taking off down the sidewalk again at a brisk pace.  I hastened to catch up with him, confused.

"Sherlock."  I said as I caught up, using his name to demand an explanation. 

"We're too far out to call a cab." He said bitterly, as if walking back into cab range was something he found offensive that he had to do.  As if the cab service should cater to his erratic range. But then again, this was Sherlock, he probably did think that to some extent.  I chuckled and shook my head, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to spend some time walking. 

The only bad thing about walking with Sherlock was that he refused to talk. Not that the silence particularly bothered me, but it was quite the difference from when we walked through crowds.  When we did that, he'd be leaning toward me, listing off deductions left and right about random people we were passing and I loved listening to him do that. But out here, there weren't crowds of people to deduce, and the silence was heavy between us.

Which, of course, left me to think about how easily he'd held onto my hand. 

Did that have something to do with how Alice said he looked at me?

I was all too suddenly aware of how small the space was between us. Specifically our hands, which almost touched every time we took a step.  It seemed so easy to just bridge the gap and take hold of his hand...which I must've actually done because all of a sudden Sherlock jumped and took a step away from me, giving me a shocked look.

"Sorry. I just-um, accident." I quickly vomited out the basically incomprehensible words while feeling entirely like an idiot while my mind repeated _stupid_ like a chant.  Why in the world had I actually done that?

"It's...fine." Sherlock shortly said, his tone making me glance up at him to take a closer look.  He had fallen back into his stride and was looking away from me as he smoothed down his jacket in a nervous movement.  Thrown off by his reaction, I let us fall back into silence until we finally started back into the outskirts of the city, thankful when we started seeing cabs drive past.  I opened my mouth to suggest stopping somewhere to eat -it was late afternoon by now- but Sherlock stopped me by flagging down a cab in a matter of seconds.

I wish he would tell me how he manages to do that. 

I left the offer of dinner go as I slid into the cab with him, assuming that tonight we'd order take-out again.  Probably not the healthiest thing to do, but I didn't have the best cooking skills and I doubted there was enough to make a meal in our kitchen.  I looked over at Sherlock as the cab started moving, surprised to see him looking down at a photo.

"What is that?" I asked with a frown.  He handed the photo over to me as he replied.

"I found it in the desk of one of the women.  He's Moore."  The photo was of two people -a man and woman- that were standing a bit awkwardly together, looking like they'd just left Uni.  The man was tall and had disheveled hair, but he wasn't smiling.  Well he was, but it such a failed attempt that I found myself cringing a bit from it.  The woman to his left looked like a younger version of one of the women in the family picture I'd seen on the fridge.  She was in a summer dress and was grinning at the photographer, her one arm slung around the man.  They looked very similar to one another. 

"Sherlock, how could you possibly think this is Moore?  What if he's just some random brother or-"

"Highly unlikely John.  The man in the photo's a gardener, with a mild mental disorder and a nervous disposition and is thus most likely Moore."

"How could you possibly tell that from one pho-"

"His hands and nails are stained with dirt, his sister is freely touching him but he's shying away from returning the gesture.  His posture explains the rest."  Sherlock quickly rattled off before waving his one hand as he reached for the picture back.  I handed it back, though I was still confused as to how he'd gleaned that much from the one picture.

"But all that doesn't really matter."

"Why not?" I asked in confusion.

"Because Alice has seen Moore."  Right.  Of course she had seen Moore.  How had I forgotten that?  Stray thoughts of how warm Sherlock's hand had felt in mine floated up in my mind and I pushed them down in embarrassment.

"It's alright John.  One can't expect everyone to remember the details."  I flushed, opening my mouth to retort when the cab suddenly stopped and Sherlock hopped out.  Scrambling, I paid the tab and ran after him. 

Back in the flat and after ordering take-out for a late supper, Sherlock paced in front of the fireplace, having tacked the photo onto his crime scene wall.  We were arguing over it. 

"I don't see why we can't get her to come over and check the photo!"  Sherlock yelled at me for the third time, throwing his hands up in a childish way as he paced.  I was standing near the door (so I could hear the bell for the take-out) and was pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to stay calm.

It wasn't working very well.

"Because it's late Sherlock."

"What does that matter?"

"It matters because she didn't get any sleep last night and has work in the morning.  My guess?  She's passed out early and I'd rather not disturb her."  Sherlock paused in his pacing and gave me a sharp look.  Surprised, I straightened my posture at the look.  Suddenly he was walking toward me until he loomed over me, his eyes boring into mine.   

"How do you know she didn't get any sleep?"

I tried to keep my eyes on his.  Don't let them wander down to his mouth that suddenly was so close.  That would be bad.  My thoughts were already scattering.  Why were they scattering?  This was just Sherlock, I shouldn't be feeling like this right now.

"She sent me some texts apparently throughout the night."  I said before that fact dawned on me and my eyes widened.  "Her texts..." I trailed off as I realized I'd never responded back.  She was probably very worried by now.  Sherlock straightened in surprise and I took the moment to slip away and dash upstairs to grab my phone.  I started scrolling through the texts I'd gotten throughout the day as Sherlock met me at the bottom of the stairs.

"What do the texts say?" He demanded, holding out his hand for my phone.  I waved it away and focused on reading.

_John...I um please ignore those previous texts.  -8:38am_

_I'm sorry I sent you so many I don't know what I was thinking. -10:03am_

_John, are you mad at me?  I'm sorry.  Maybe we could do supper? -3:12pm_

_John?  -5:27pm_

_Are you okay? -5:46pm_

_Hey, did you guys manage to find anything from that lead you found? GL  -6:02pm_

And the text messages stopped there, which was a few hours ago by now.  I grimaced as I read Alice's texts and then checked my missed calls.  There were two from Alice, and one -strangely enough- from Mycroft.  I raised an eyebrow at this, but figured that if it was really important he'd have found another way to reach us.  Suddenly though, Sherlock snatched away my phone.

"Hey!" I protested as he started flicking through my messages.  The doorbell rang from below and Sherlock waved me away, his way of telling me to go get it.  Frustrated, I stomped downstairs and quickly paid for our food before heading back up.  Sherlock had finished reading my messages and was pacing again, my phone pressed against his chin as he thought. 

"I need my phone back."  I said as I set down our take-out and went to grab plates.  He made a noise of non-commitment and kept pacing.  When I came back with plates he was sitting in his chair, holding out my phone, waiting for me to take it.  I did, still a bit annoyed as I doled out what I wanted and sat across from him in my chair.  Sherlock shifted in his chair, his hands tucked under his chin as he got lost in his thoughts.  I sighed, knowing it wouldn't be of much use to try to get him to eat just yet.  He wouldn't even hear me.  So instead, I sent a text back to Alice.

_Hey, sorry about not responding.  Sherlock dragged me out of the flat without my phone all day. -JW_

_And yes, we're fine. -JW_

A sound from Sherlock made me look up and I was surprised to see that he was serving himself.  Willingly.  I stared.  This was  the second time in a few days that he'd willingly ate a meal. 

"Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"  He replied slowly, giving me a quizzical look.  I shook my head, dismissing his question.  As long as he was eating, I didn't really care why he was doing it.  So I just smirked and took another bite of my own.


	10. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found that for me, Mycroft is a bit hard to write. He just stands there in my mind, staring at me like I'm not worth the time as the rest of the characters go about the story. But anywhos, enjoy~

When my alarm clock went off, I jolted awake and cursed in annoyance at it.  Just another half hour of sleep would be heavenly.  Please?  Even as I wished to just close my eyes I was already rolling out of bed, knowing I couldn't go back to sleep.  It barely felt like I'd gotten any sleep at all, which was in part true.  I sighed as I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the stiffness that arose from being tense all night.

I had been fidgety all day.  Nervous for my first day of work and to hear back from John.  I felt my face heat up at the thought of the pathetic texts I'd sent him.  He hadn't responded all day though, and I had gotten panicked until later at night I finally got a response assuring me that him and Sherlock were fine.  I'd been relieved, but I still wasn't able to sleep. 

I knew it was absurd.

But every time I laid down on my bed to sleep the shadows in my room started moving and morphing into creatures that I hadn't seen since I was a child.  I knew that they weren't actually there, the shadows weren't moving, but sleep still evaded me.  I think I finally managed to pass out around three in the morning.

And now it was seven. 

Four hours of sleep for the first day of my new job.

I sarcastically grumbled to myself as I shuffled into my kitchen and put the kettle on, knowing I'd wake up after having some sort of breakfast.  I wiped my eyes clean as I pulled out bread and made toast while the water was heating up.  The whistle of the kettle made me jump a few minutes later as I set my toast down on my table.  Dang thing always made me jump, even though I knew it was going to whistle.  Tea and toast acquired, I rolled my shoulders as I sat and ate, working out the kinks with the practice of someone who didn't have anyone to do it for them.  The tea was heavenly and I sighed in relief as I felt the warmth working through my body.

With a finish of breakfast, I hurried back into my room, getting dressed for the day.  My thoughts turned away from the mess with the notes and to my first day at work.  My body felt jittery and slightly off-key, but I figured that was because I was nervous. 

Regardless, I was out the door right on time with what I'd planned.  I smiled as I walked through the lobby, my bag in my hand, and a smile on my face.  I was excited, and the smile brought confidence.  Straight posture and lifted head.  I was ready.

And I walked straight into a downpour.

Of course I bloody did. 

I couldn't even go back into the building because this was the kind of lovingly wonderful downpour that included wind strong enough to destroy any umbrella you tried to put up.  In fact, I watched that happen to someone across the street not more than a minute after I stepped outside.  Grimacing, I pulled my jacket closer to myself and hailed a cab.  A minute later and I was thankfully inside one, dripping onto the floor as we coasted along towards my office. 

I bolted into my office building as soon as the cab stopped, barely spending the time to remember to actually pay the man for his services.  I should have been a bit nicer though.  Most people at least tipped.  Right.  I'd fix that next time.  For now, I just sighed in relief when I got inside, and then hastily brushed my hair behind my ears.  I knew I wouldn't be able to fix it, but at least I wouldn't look like a drowned puppy now.  And anyways, it didn't matter what your appearance looked like if you looked confident. 

Chin up.  Straight back.  Look like you know what you're doing.  I really didn't as I walked to the secretary's desk and calmly asked for the files of my patients (I'd transfer them into my office as I went) and then strode off with them in hand. 

My office was situated in one of the corners of the building, which I found lovely because of all the windows.  I smiled as I set the files down on my desk and glanced around the room.  Near the windows were two professional looking chairs that sat facing one another.  To the other side were a few beanbag-like chairs and a small bookshelf.  Everything looked a bit empty and I set my case down on my desk with a sigh.  I had a bit of work to do.  But I did have about a half hour before my first client came in.  I smiled and started pulling out various supplies.  I might as well get to work.

A half hour later, I had managed to fill some of the shelves with various colored pencil cases and other kid's toys and put some pictures on my desk.  I'd also swapped the professional looking chairs out for the beanbag ones (they looked better by the window) and was now ready for my first patient.  A little boy named Michael, who'd  been abused by his father before his mother had been able to get custody.  I grimaced as I closed his file and then stood to go pick him up from the waiting room.

I wasn't expecting someone to walk in.  My mind screamed danger as I heard the door click open, despite how irrational I knew the thought was.   This was an office.  No danger here.  A murderer wasn't about to walk in.

But Mycroft Holmes did.

I blinked in surprise as he walked in and calmly shut the door, his face expressionless as he tapped his umbrella on the floor.  A bit stunned, I could only watch as he closed the gap between us and stopped a few feet away.  I should say something.  Anything.  Ask him why in the world he was here and where was Michael?

"Anthea is keeping the boy amused." Mycroft tersely said, his voice betraying no emotion.  Still shocked, I babbled a response.

"Hello to you too?" I frowned.  Wait. Why was he here?  He had just literally waltzed into my office on my first day like it was no big deal.  He wasn't here for therapy -I worked with children- so why was he...?

"Excuse me, but why are you here?  And more importantly, how did you know where I work?"  My tone was a bit shaper than I would have liked.  He raised an eyebrow at me as I asked the second question, as if to answer that was so obvious he wouldn't take the time to explain it.  In fact, he didn't.  He just addressed my first question. 

"I needed to ascertain a few variables." He said with a tap of his umbrella on the floor.  I tried not to stare at it.  Still frowning, I leaned up against my desk, folding my arms across my chest.

"Well. Okay then.  What did you need to know that you couldn't just call me about?" 

"What is your relationship with my brother?"  He asked it nonchalantly, but he took a step closer to me.  I tried not to lean backwards more on my desk and I looked at him in confusion. 

"What do you mean?  We don't have a relationship."

"You've stayed overnight at his flat and you aren't one of John's endeavors of what constitutes a normal relationship. There should have been no reason for you to stay the night unless you have some form of relationship with my brother, I'm asking what that is."  I balked at him, anger flaring up in me and making me stand up straight.  I was shorter than him, but only by a few inches and so thankfully I wasn't left glaring up at him.

"Excuse me, but how in the world do you even know that?  Did John tell you?"

"Of course he didn't.  I have various methods of finding-"

"Stop.  I don't want to know." I cut him off sharply, and he gave me a very annoyed expression before he reigned it back into a more neutral one.  He opened his mouth to say something when I spoke, not wanting to hear what he was going to say.

"If you must know, I stayed the night because John's my friend and offered me a place when I needed to get away from my flat for a night.  I only know Sherlock now because him and John are working on a case for me."  I watched as Mycroft tapped his umbrella gently on the floor twice before he gave me the smallest of nods.

"You're in contact with him and John almost daily then?"  I tilted my head at the question.

"Yes, why?"

"It would be beneficial to certain parties if you would be able to report back to me about the two of them, in return for a payment of course."  I blinked as he said that with a straight face.  Baffled, and a bit perturbed, I shook my head.

"I am not going to spy on them for you." His grip tightened on his umbrella. He gave me the smallest of frowns.

"You haven't even heard the amount-"

"And I don't want to.  If there's anything I can understand, it's paranoia and I'm not going to fuel that for either of them by making them wonder who in their life is ratting them out."  I said sharply, realizing too late that it might have been a bit much.  Mycroft narrowed his eyes and took another step toward me.  He was not a threat, I repeatedly told myself as I held my ground. 

"Interesting."  He muttered under his breath to himself before I managed to find my words.

"You really do care about him that much, don't you?" I asked before I could stop myself, having made the observation over the last few minutes from his posture and words.  Mainly from the fact that he only referred to Sherlock as 'my brother'.   He took a small step backwards. 

Nailed it.

"I thought so.  Now unless you're here to set up an appointment with me for yourself, I highly suggest you leave and let me get back to work."  Mycroft gripped his umbrella and gave me a cold look before he promptly turned and left my room.  Following, I ducked into the waiting area in time to see him leave with a woman on his heels.  A young boy, most likely Michael, was sitting in one of the chairs, staring after the woman.  With a smile, I walked over to him and asked him to come follow me back into my room. 

By the time lunch rolled around and I'd seen a few of my clients, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to John.  Hopefully he was also on break and I wouldn't be disturbing him.

_So Sherlock's brother showed up at my office this morning._

I started eating my lunch, jotting down some notes in a few files when John texted back.

_He did?  Wait, did he offer you money to spy on Sherlock? -JW_

_Yes, though on you too. How did you know?_

I stared at my phone for a few minutes, waiting for a response.  Instead, I got a call as I took a bite of my sandwich.  I fumbled for my phone and answered it as I gulped down the bite I'd taken, trying not to choke.

"Hello?"

"He asked you to spy on the both of us?" I heard the voice of a very annoyed John on the other end of the phone.  I nodded in response, and then remembered he couldn't see that and responded verbally.

"The utter git, why does he want to know what I'm doing too?"  I listened to John sigh and then pick back up.  "Did you at least take the money?" I blinked in shock.

"What? Of course not!  I'm not going to agree on that!"

"Well dang, we could have split the money between us." I heard John say with a small chuckle.  Surprised, I wasn't sure how to respond when he spoke back up.

"Sorry Alice, it's just that this same thing happened to me back when I first met Sherlock."

"You're kidding."  I replied, though I could picture Mycroft walking into John's office or just suddenly being there like in a horror movie. John laughed.

"I wish I was.  At least he didn't kidnap you.  Took me to this shoddy warehouse and tried to coerce me into it."  I let out a sudden laugh, surprised that I could easily picture that happening.  Probably not very appropriate response but...

"Wow."

"I know.  Sherlock asked me if I took the money and then complained when I hadn't, saying we could've split it.  But I know he was secretly happy."  I smirked at that, of course that had made Sherlock happy, if what I had been getting from him was correct.

"Anyways, I have to get back to work.  But if Mycroft bothers you again, let me know.  I'll get him to stop." 

"Thanks John." I said with a smile before I hung up and set my phone aside.  Well.  That was interesting, now wasn't it?  Amused, I shook my head at the situation and took another bite of my lunch, getting back to work.

Between getting files and patients sorted and seen to at work, and doing the final touches up on my flat, the next two days passed before I knew it.  At the end of the second day, I locked my office door and left for my flat, checking the messages on my phone.  John had been keeping me updated on the progress of my case, though Sherlock hadn't figured out anything enlightening.  John seemed to be trying to make it sound like it was entirely normal for Sherlock to be having this hard of a time, but his uneasy texts told me otherwise.  Regardless, I thumbed through today's texts, pausing as I saw a new number.

_Stop texting John over lunch.  It's increasing the amount of time it takes him to respond to me by two minutes. -SH_

I blinked in surprise at that as I stepped out of the office building, glad the sun was out for a bit, though it was weak.  Sherlock? When in the world had he...?

_How did you get my number?_

 I sent the text just as I realized that of course, he lives with John.  He probably just asked.  I pinched the bridge of my nose at my mistake as I started walking home, navigating through the crowds on the sidewalk.  I silently thanked my younger self for roller-skating all those years; it allowed me to weave between people with ease.  I typed out a pitiful reply to ignore that last question when Sherlock texted me back.

_John had your number in his phone.  -SH_

_Your texting him is distracting. -SH_

I chuckled at the texts, picturing Sherlock frowning at his phone as he sent them.  I wove around a few people waiting on a corner as I typed a reply. 

_I won't tell him that you apparently stole his phone at some point in time._

_Also, jealous?_

I giggled a bit to myself as I sent that one.  It made sense.  I knew how Sherlock looked at John, despite the fact that neither of them realized the other did the same.  Maybe if I said something to John?  No, I shouldn't meddle.  Maybe a hint perhaps next time we went out for lunch.  I shook my head, clearing my scattering thoughts.  It was almost cute to see that Sherlock at least cared enough that he seemed bothered by me texting John on lunch breaks.  I didn't want to know exactly how he knew that though.  But if he knew that, then he knew John was only a friend to me, right? My phone buzzed in my hand as I turned a corner, glancing up to check the walk sign.  I waited for it, crossed, and then checked the message.

_Jealousy is for the insecure.  I am nothing of the sort.  -SH_

_His delay is hindering the progress of my experiments.  -SH_

_Nothing more.  -SH_

I grinned as I responded.

_Mm-hmm.  Whatever you say.  I'll just text him while he's working instead._

Okay, _now_ I was entirely meaning to screw with Sherlock.  I wouldn't really bother John while he was working anymore than he'd do the same to me.  But I just had to have some fun with this.  I added his number to my contacts list and labeled him 'Jealous Detective'.  Granted, I normally only used associations for people with more common names, but I was having a bit of fun for shits and giggles.  I went to John's, and relabeled him from 'John Baker Street' (I knew a few John's) to 'Sherlock's Doctor'.  I promised myself I would change them to something a bit more normal later.

 If I remembered. 

For now, I was trying not to laugh like a crazy lady into my phone on a busy sidewalk. It wasn't going very well. 

_You will do nothing of the sort.  -SH_

I raised an eyebrow at this, feeling like this might be something that Mycroft would say more than Sherlock.

_Oh? How will you stop me?_

_I will find a way to have your phone conveniently melt itself. Preferably in my next experiment.  -SH_

_Good luck with that._

I grinned as I shot that reply, only slightly worried that he'd take me literally.  Hopefully he had some inkling of sarcasm.  Either way, I had reached my building and I stepped inside, walking back toward my flat. 

_Challenge accepted.  -SH_

Well shit.  Unless he was being sarcastic too, I realized I needed to keep a close eye on my phone in the upcoming days.  Shaking my head in amusement, I exchanged my phone for my keys and unlocked the door to my flat.  Once instead, I shut and locked it behind me and set my keys down on my kitchen table along with my bag. 

What was on my keys?  I lifted them up, having noticed that a bit of white something had fallen from them onto the table.  Shrugging, I brushed the particles off and wiped my keys clean with my fingers.  Probably just some crumbs of something from my pocket. 

Glad to be home for the rest of the evening, I left my things there for a moment, going to change into something a bit more comfortable like sweatpants.  I went back to my room and pulled out a soft t-shirt from my dresser before turning to grab my sweatpants off the footboard of my bed.  I froze when I saw it.

A crisp piece of white paper with the number five on it sat in the middle of my bed. 

A wave of panic rushed through me and I dropped my shirt, unable to tear my eyes away from the piece of paper.  _Oh God why was it in my room.  Aretheystillherearetheystillhere?_   My thoughts swirled and I spun in place, frantically searching the corners of my room as I looked for any sign of an intruder.  Everything was clear, and I knew I should check the rest of my flat, but I couldn't move.  My hands were shaking, and my thoughts were getting away from me. 

_I heard the front door open, the sound of a soft swing on its hinges.  Two pairs of feet on the floor as I stood, confused.  Dad? Were we expecting someone?_

_No, why?_

_Two men, one tall, one short, appeared from around the corner, telling me to turn around slowly.  I listened to the one with the gun, crying.  I didn't hear it go off, but I did feel it.  A hot lancing arrow through the back of my neck as I fell._

_And then I was floating, up and away-_

I shook myself, tearing myself away from the memory as I drew a ragged breath.  This was no time to hyperventilate over what had only been a dream so long ago.  Just a dream just a dream just a dream.  Tremors rolled through me as I fumbled for my phone, ignoring the phantom hole I felt in the back of my neck.  I typed fast, not trusting myself to be able to speak over a call without trembling.

_John_

_John it hapend agian. I don't_

_Fuck_

_Aer you home?_

I knew my messages sounded like frantic babbling, but I didn't care.  I was just trying to stop the shivers going through me and it wasn't working.  A headache started to grow between my eyes and I shakily walked back into my kitchen, glancing around my flat to make sure no one was there.  No one was, but I still took out a knife from my kitchen and gripped it tightly, debating if I should just leave or wait to hear back from John.  When my phone buzzed in my hand I jumped, startled, and then fumbled to read it. 

_Alice?  This isn't John, this is Sherlock.  -SH_

I blinked, not understanding for a moment before I glanced at the name of who I'd texted.  Apparently I had texted Sherlock in my haste.  Crap, hopefully he wouldn't-

_Alice?  What happened?  Are you alright?  -SH_

If Sherlock was texting me, then there was a good chance that he was home.  Being out of this flat and in one where I would feel safe was suddenly extremely appealing.  I grabbed my keys and left my flat in the next moment. 

Outside the building, I was able to hold back some of the tremors, but only by thinking that I'd be around Sherlock soon.  Protection.  Safe.  I kept my face down and walked fast.  A bit too fast to go unnoticed but I honestly didn't care. 

"Alice?"

I started at the sound of my name, freezing and glancing up sharply.  A very confused looking Sherlock was standing in front of me, his eyes locked on my one hand.  I barely noticed this though, because a warm rush of relief swept through me and my body relaxed.  Or maybe I swayed, because suddenly Sherlock was right in front of me, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder, his eyes still locked on my hands even as he spoke. 

"Alice, you're holding a knife."  He softly said as he finally looked up and made eye contact with me.  Wait. What?  Hadn't I...?  I glanced down blankly and yes, I was still holding the knife.  Shocked, I gently handed it to his awaiting grasp.  His posture relaxed ever so slightly as he slide the knife into a pocket in his coat and then his face was back into a mask of only the faintest concern.  I felt the adrenaline leaving my system and I swayed again, catching myself as Sherlock steadied me again with a hand before he turned me around and nudged me back toward my building with a hand in the small of my back. 

"I already texted John and he's on his way.  Tell me what happened."  He said smoothly, his voice rolling around me like velvet as we neared my building.  I shivered, and shook my head, gathering my thoughts.  Calm down.  Pull yourself together.  Stop acting like a frightened two-year-old. 

"He left another note."  I said thickly, my throat feeling odd.  Sherlock glanced down at me as we entered my building and headed toward my flat.

"Number five?"

"Yes." I said shakily as we reached my door and I unlocked it, vaguely wondering what good the lock even did at this point in time.  I shut the door behind us as we stepped inside and Sherlock looked around, taking in my things on the table.

"Where?"

"On my bed."  I said with a grimace as I pointed the way.  I honestly didn't want to go back into that room right now.  My headache was growing and the shivers were still lingering a bit.  I needed something to drink.  I walked into my kitchen and methodically heated up some water as Sherlock walked around my bedroom doing who-knows-what because I couldn't see him from here.  I honestly didn't care at the moment.  He was safety, which was a childish way of looking at it, but I couldn't stop the thought from happening.  Chamomile tea from the shelf and in a few minutes I was sipping at the hot tea, not caring if it burned my tongue.

It tasted like heaven. 

Sherlock was walking back into the kitchen, carrying the note very carefully when a knock sounded at my door and I heard John's voice calling out my name.  I quickly stood and walked over to my door, taking a breath before I pulled it open.


	11. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit because finals, so have a longer chapter. :D

When Alice opened the door, I stared in surprise at her appearance.  Sherlock had warned me via text that she was out of sorts, but I hadn't expected her to be this distraught.  She looked harried; her hair was sticking up in various places and her clothes were wrinkled in a few places as if she'd gripped them in terror.  Her eyes were wide and she looked relieved when she saw me and she motioned me inside.  I did so while stepping out of her way so that she could shut her door.  Worried, I watched her and was startled to see that she was minutely shaking.

"Alice?"  I hesitantly asked as I looked across the room to see Sherlock standing in the kitchen, bent over the table staring at something.   Alice spun back around to face me at my words and I frowned at the small jump in her movements.  Why was she so jittery?  Of course, I expected her to be a bit shaky, all things considered, but not to this extent.

"H-hello John.  He's in the kitchen."  She said with a stutter that made me snap my focus on her eyes.  Something was definitely not right.  I swept my gaze over her quickly, taking in her shaking form, the wide pupils, and realizing that I was probably just over-thinking things a bit.  She looked like she'd just had a small panic attack.  She probably had.  Nothing to worry about.  They weren't uncommon and I made a note to watch out for any signs of another one coming on.  And yet, something sat wrong in the back of my mind, insisting that a panic attack wasn't the cause of her behavior.  I brushed the insistent thought away and turned to the kitchen.

"Thanks.  Let's see if he found anything, ya?"  I softly suggested, using my body language to prompt her to head there before me.  She sucked in a deep breath and then nodded before leading the way.  I followed after her and then moved to stand beside Sherlock in order to lean over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.

"Hello John.  It's another note, like the others before it.  Same paper and ink, though this one was left on her bed and not her kitchen table."  Sherlock said as I looked at the paper, his dark curls getting slightly in the way.  I brushed a stray one aside and leaned closer to take a look.

"No wonder she's shaking so bad."  I muttered, anger slipping into my words before I could stop it.  I felt Sherlock stiffen and I glanced up, seeing that he was looking over at Alice.  I followed his gaze and realized that Alice had frozen as well, a teacup halfway to her mouth.  She was frowning.

"Pardon, but I am _not_ shaking."  She said as she finished taking a sip of her tea, giving me a partially defiant look.  Surprised at her reaction, I paused, not knowing what to say. 

"Really John, are you sure you aren't the one that's shaking?"  Sherlock suddenly said, causing me to snap my gaze back to him.  What the hell?  I was the one shaking?  Why in the world would he even suggest that?  My growing anger must have shown because Sherlock glared at me, shoving words through his eyes that shut me up in an instant.

_Do go along with me John.  Don't question it._

Huffing a bit, I forced my suddenly stiff shoulders to relax.  "Okay, okay.  My mistake.  I must have been seeing things.  But anyway, I'm guessing this was done by our suspect, that Moore guy, right?"  Recognition lit up on Alice's face and she suddenly jolted forward, pointing directly at me.  I shifted backwards, startled by her sudden action.

"THAT." She basically yelled, her eyes going wide as she held her pointed finger at me.  I glanced at Sherlock in worry, but he was staring at Alice, a frown on his otherwise blank face.

"Um...my jumper?"  I managed to say in lieu of the fact that I really had no idea what she was going on about.  I was even more surprised when a laugh broke free from her and she clutched her sides, giggling uncontrollably. 

"O-of course not your jumper!  That name!" She managed between giggles. "Moore!  That was the guy's last name, I'm sure of it."  Tears of laughter were starting to form at her eyes and I furrowed my brow in concern, moving a step away from Sherlock as I waited to see if she would come back to herself or not.  Because at the moment she was worrying me a bit. 

"That is his name Alice.  His full name is Donald Albert Moore, which we managed to retrieve from your bank's records at Lestrade's office."  Sherlock slowly said, as if measuring his every word.  Thankfully, his slowness seemed to calm her down.  She nodded, her giggles stopping as she moved to lean against her one counter, her tea still gripped terribly tight in her hand. 

The shaking slowly returned.

"Names aside, is there anything you can get from this note, Sherlock?"  I asked, trying to divert the conversation back to a more productive route before Alice decided to surprise me again.  I turned my gaze back to the note as I asked, feeling a memory popping up in the back of my mind.  I reached for, trying to remember when Sherlock spoke and it rushed away.

"Not particularly.  I already looked around her bedroom and couldn't find any trace that he'd been in her room." He stood and started pacing around the small kitchen as he thought. 

"Did you check the door yet?" I suggested, still looking at the note on the table, willing my mind to remember what it'd been trying to.  Sherlock spun to me and grinned, suddenly rushing towards me and planting his hands down on my shoulders.

"John, you're brilliant!" He enthusiastically said before spinning on a dime and heading toward her door as I fought with myself to stop the sudden rush of heat through my face that'd come along with his words.  Willing it away, I moved to follow and noticed that Alice was grinning at me from across the room, her still wide eyes holding a bit of mischief in them.  Unsettled, I swiftly walked toward Sherlock, muttering to myself under my breath.

"Right. Okay. Well then." I said as I reached her door to see that Sherlock had pulled it open and was looking at the outside of the lock, bent over at the waist with his magnifying glass pulled out.  His tailored pants fit snugly around him, and it took me a moment to realize I was staring as he fiddled with the lock.  Oh God I was staring at Sherlock's arse.  I immediately turned my eyes to his hands that were fiddling with the lock, decidedly trying to forget that I'd just done that. 

Alice giggled.  I threw her a flustered glare and was confused to see her motioning toward Sherlock.

 _What?_  I silently mouthed at her, not understanding what she meant.

 _He does have a nice arse._  She mouthed back, a hand coming to her mouth as she repressed another giggle as I blushed, thrown by her forwardness. 

"If you two are quite done, John, could you reach into my pocket and hand me a small bag? I found something."  Sherlock suddenly said, making me jump slightly and Alice startle as well. 

"And you can't get it yourself?" I said with a small tease in my voice, knowing that even if I berated him, he wouldn't do it himself.  I moved forward to comply as I tried to compel myself to stop blushing.  It was bloody Sherlock I was thinking about and I wasn't some wall-eyed teenager.  This was entirely a bit not good and I needed to wait to suss out these feelings later. 

"Of course not John."  He replied, amusement coloring his voice as I reached into his jacket pocket.  I felt a small chuckle reverberate through him that decidedly didn't help me calm down.  Ignoring that feeling pointedly, I frowned in confusion as I pulled out a knife from his pocket along with a bag.

"Sherlock, why do you have a kitchen knife on you-"

"Oh! That's mine. Sorry!"  Alice suddenly said, cutting me off as she stepped forward and blushed slightly, taking back her knife without looking at me.  I blankly registered handing Sherlock the bag as I stared at Alice.

"Well..."

"I forgot I'd been carrying it and Sherlock took it off my hands."  She said with a fake smile, trying to act nonchalant as she turned and carried it back into the kitchen.  I frowned and glanced at Sherlock, suddenly aware of how close to him I was as I looked for clarification.  Instead, he just finished scraping something into the bag and tucked it back into his pocket as he stood, leaving me to scramble up as well. 

"What did you find?"  I managed to ask, glad that my mind could at least come up with a normal question.  Alice was back in the room when he answered.

"I've got a good idea, but I'll need to check this at Bart's first." 

"Wait, can I go with you?"  I looked over at Alice, unsure how to respond to her question.

"Er..."

"Why would you come with us?"  Sherlock questioned, his gaze sharp.  Alice swallowed nervously, fidgeting where she stood as she avoid making eye contact with either of us.

"Because I _really_ can't be in my flat right now."  She said, the emphasis on her words striking a chord in me.  I glanced at Sherlock as I spoke.

"I don't think we can exactly bring you along Alice."

"John's right, you would only get in the way of my thinking-"

"What he's trying to say is that Molly's already bending a few rules to let us in there, I doubt we could bring a civilian along as well."  I interjected, stopping Sherlock before he could say anything harsher than what he'd managed to get out.  He gave me an affronted look, but I ignored it as Alice sighed in disappointment.  I rushed to reassure her. 

"I'm sure though that Mrs. Hudson might need a hand or two around her apartment with some things if you do need to get away for a bit." 

"But John-"  I silenced Sherlock with a glare and turned a softened gaze back at Alice.  Keep my face light when looking at her.  She was still shaking, after all, I couldn't upset her any more than she already was. 

"Mrs. Hudson?" She asked, tilting her head a bit in confusion.

"Our landlady, that is.  She's a bit elderly and she's always asking for Sherlock or me to come help her out with some of the harder work she does around her flat.  She also loves company."  I added as I saw Alice open her mouth to protest.  Sherlock had flicked open his phone and was holding it to his ear.

"But I don't even..." Alice started, but Sherlock cut her off.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  She'll be right on over."  Sherlock quipped before he closed his phone and slipped it back in his pocket, turning to leave as he spoke.

"It's all taken care of Alice.  Mrs. Hudson is expecting you in five minutes and she said that she most assuredly has a few things that she needs help with.  Come on, John."  He added at the end, flicking a hand for me to follow him.  I rolled my eyes, muttering to myself about how I wasn't a dog and yet of course I would come after him.  I always followed after him.  Not stopping to think about the implications of that thought, I allowed myself to be grateful that he'd managed to get a hold of Mrs. Hudson.  Alice spun and went into the kitchen to grab her things and I left, catching up to Sherlock as he left the building.

Once outside, I glanced at him as he hailed a cab, again wondering how he always managed to stop one within a minute.

"Thanks."  I said softly as we slid into the cab and he told the cabbie to head for Bart's.  He looked sharply at me, surprise written across his face before he managed to hide it behind that blasted mask he always used.  I suddenly had the urge to know what he'd look like with that mask entirely torn off. 

"I would hardly say that getting rid of a third party is a worthy cause of thanks, John."  Instead of responding, I just gave him a warm smile.  This resulted in another adorably confused expression from him, but I didn't feel like explaining.  Though, I did realize I should probably decide why I kept thinking of him as adorable.  Again, my thoughts drifted to Alice's mention of how he looked at me.  What _had_ she meant?  If it was anyone else, I would have thought she meant with some form of affection, but this was Sherlock.  Surely it couldn't be that, could it? 

"Whatever you're thinking, the answer is no."  Sherlock said, still staring at me, though with a bit more intensity now.  I felt myself flushing and I quickly turned my head away to look out the cab's window as I replied.

"How in the world do you even know what I'm thinking about Sherlock?"

"I can tell by the way you crease your forehead when you're thinking about something particularly confusing or distressing and it was most likely something dull and not worth your time worrying about.  Probable ideas are mainly yes or no questions and considering you feel affronted by sending Alice off to Mrs. Hudson, it was likely about that.  Either way, the answer is no, and you should stop worrying about whatever it is."  I looked at Sherlock through the reflection from the cab's window, seeing his back as he too was turned toward his own window.  He seemed to be lazily glancing out it, face blank.  I frowned, but did as he suggested and turned my mind back to the case.

"Alice was shaking back in her apartment, wasn't she?"  I asked, turning back toward him as I felt the flush in my cheeks calming down.  Sherlock made eye contact with me through the window's reflection, his grey eyes cool as he answered. 

"Of course she was John."

"Then why did you say she wasn't?"  I asked, a bit of anger coloring my voice as I realized he'd made me look slightly crazy back there. 

"Did you see how close she was to a breakdown John?  I didn't want to have to handle a sobbing mess of a woman."  He said with a roll of his eyes in the window.  I frowned, realizing that he did have a point.  I opened my mouth to reply when the cab suddenly stopped and we swept out of the cab and into Bart's. 

When we entered the lab, Molly was there, bustling about, files in her arms and a body bag sitting closed on one of the tables.  As soon as we walked in she squeaked in surprise, her face lighting up as she looked at Sherlock.  I internally sighed, wishing that I could tell her that it was a bit hopeless because Sherlock didn't even spare her much of a glance, let alone an acknowledgement of her presence. 

"O-Oh! Sherlock, John, I didn't know you were coming in?"  She asked, her voice soft and stuttering for a second as she shifted the files in her hands and brushed a piece of her hair behind her ears. 

"We didn't know either."  I kindly said as I greeted her for the both of us, considering Sherlock was already sweeping back to the back rooms where the trash evidence was still laid out and some microscopes were. 

"Don't mind us."  I added as I followed him.

"Do you need anything?"  Molly called after me, making me pause and look back at her. 

"Thanks, but no, we're good."  I called back as I turned back around and followed Sherlock into the back room.  Time crept by then as I sat at the trash table and Sherlock sat in front of a microscope, both of us entirely silent.  Not that I minded it, I was well used to Sherlock's bouts of stony silence by now.  In fact, this time around I welcomed it as it gave me the time to sit and suss out the feelings that had been popping up in me about Sherlock. 

My thoughts drifted as I toyed with a ball of paper that was lying on the trash pile.  Again, I brought up Alice's words and mussed over them.  Maybe she had meant affection?  What would that even mean?  I turned my gaze toward Sherlock, taking in his hunched over back and dark curls as I slightly furrowed my brow.  If Sherlock were anyone else, would I think he wanted more than what we had already?  I pulled on the memories I had of all the times he'd casually brushed his hands with mine, little instances where he'd bumped into me in the mornings in our flat or when a race through the alleys of London had left us breathless and leaning on one another.  All those fleeting smiles he'd sent my way that I knew he didn't give anyone else aside from Mrs. Hudson.  All those looks when he didn't think I could see him. 

I was surprised by the sudden rush of fondness that swept through me as I kept looking at him.  He had been the one to give me something worth living for, I realized; something more than the drab endless days when I was back in that lonely flat with nothing but myself and my gun.  I fidgeted in my seat at the warmth that made me grin a bit. 

Stop that.

No grinning.

He might turn around.

And I didn't know what I actually wanted let alone if I really was reading his actions correctly.  Yes, people always insinuated things about us and Sherlock was _never_ the one to correct them but honestly that could mean anything.  What did I want though?  My thoughts scrambled a bit as I tried to work that out. 

"Stop thinking John."  Sherlock said, breaking the silence and making me snap to attention, a retort on my lips before I could stop myself.

"How could you possibly hear me thinking?"

"It's terribly loud.  Of course I can hear it.  Now stop."  He issued, never once turning around, the git.  A fond smile crept onto my face and I relaxed into my seat, letting my thoughts go.  Whatever I felt for him, I figured we would work it out.  It was probably not the best that I realized I wouldn't be adverse to it if my flatmate fancied me, and that the thought that he might not made my stomach clench in a cold fear.

I glanced down at the table of trash, glad that Sherlock had at least removed the food scraps.  I stopped fiddling with the wad of paper I'm been rolling around and slowly opened it, a bit curious. 

What I saw made me freeze. 

"Sherlock."

"John, we need to get back to the flat."

We both spoke at the same time as Sherlock spun around in his seat and made eye contact with me, his face alight with a bit of excitement.  Slightly worried, I motioned him to speak first.

"It's jimson weed John!"

"Wait, what you found in Alice's door?" I repeated, standing as I gripped the piece of paper I'd unfolded and walked over to him. 

"Yes!  Isn't that brilliant?" He said as he grinned, throwing me off.

"How is that bloody brilliant Sherlock?  There's poison in her door!"  I snapped out, pinching the bridge of my nose before I lifted the piece of paper in my hand and put it in front of him. 

"The idea of it John, don't be daft.  Slowly poisoning his victims every time they unlocked their door.  They'd unwillingly coat their keys in poison and end up touching their faces with their coated hands.  Do you know how many times the average person touches their face on a daily basis?"

"Yes I do Sherlock, but that's not the point-"

"Come John, we need to get back to the flat and talk to Alice."

"Sherlock!" I waved the piece of paper in front of his face before he could run off.  He blinked, focusing on what I'd been trying to show him in the first place. 

"She's the next victim, Sherlock."  I said with a frown, glancing at the offending piece of paper.  The number five that was printed on it mocking us.

"Yes, she is."  He said with a calculating look at me.  "You didn't know that."  I balked at him.

"Of course I didn't know that!"  He frowned. 

"Surely you noticed her symptoms?" He asked as he stood, sweeping on his jacket as he slipped the paper into one of his many pockets. 

"Well yes, I had."

"Then you could see she had mild jimson weed poisoning."

"Well perhaps, but-"

"Then it's settled.  We really need to go now John.  Mrs. Hudson is going to start noticing that Alice looks ready to drop in about," he checked his watch, "five minutes."

"How could  you know that?  Jimson weed poisoning takes at least an hour to take effect and she's been poisoned over days.  It shouldn't suddenly get worse."

"What was she drinking when we arrived?"  My eyes widened as I realized what he meant.

"Oh God, the tea."

"Correct.  So we really should be getting back."  He finished as he tossed my jacket at me. 

When we got back to 221, the sound of someone singing was coming from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.  I looked over at Sherlock, seeing him raise an eyebrow.

"Is that...?"  He gave me an a look and motioned for me to be silent.  We walked slowly into Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, both of us rounding the corner at almost the same time.  Alice was standing in front of the stove, the burners pulled out as she scrubbed away at the top of the stove.  Mrs. Hudson was sitting at her table, sipping a cup of tea and smiling over at Alice. 

 _"I got a heart full of rhythm, that beats with no pain."_  Alice seemed to be singing to herself, bouncing back and forth as she scrubbed.  

"Now dear, the boys will be back soon and you look right tuckered.  You can always come back and help me again when you've had a bit of a rest."  Mrs. Hudson said to Alice, who turned around and hid another yawn behind a hand. 

"I'm fine, I'll just finish this."  Alice said as I took in her appearance, frowning in worry.  Her eyes were bloodshot, a bit too wide, and I realized that her hands were minutely shaking.  Now that she'd stopped singing, the bounce I'd seen turned into a sway.  She looked like she was going to drop any second.

"I believe that Mrs. Hudson is right Alice, you should leave this for another time."  Sherlock said, announcing our presence as he looked up at her.  Alice snapped her head up at his words and looked over at us, her eyes widening in horror.  Confused, I was about to ask what was wrong when she let out a scream.

I immediately lifted my hands, trying to calm her down, not having a clue what caused her to let out a scream.  She'd stopped screaming, but as soon as I moved my hands she flinched backwards into the stove and threw the brush she'd been using at me.  Sherlock was in front of me in a second, a small _thunk_ ringing out before the brush fell to the floor.   He rushed forward then as Mrs. Hudson let out a small cry, his jacket fanning out behind him.  I stepped to the side in time to see him catch Alice, who'd passed out.  Worried, I rushed over to him as he held up Alice with a slightly disgruntled expression. 

"Oh dear, is she alright?" Mrs. Hudson said with a small stammer as she stood, her hands fluttering about as I took Alice's pulse.  Slightly fast, but nothing serious.  Sherlock was holding her slightly away from his body, seeming a bit put-up as he looked down at her. 

"She should be fine Mrs. Hudson."  I said as I released her wrist.  "Sherlock will take her upstairs and I'll keep an eye on her until she wakes up, ya?"  I said lightly as Sherlock gave me an affronted look.

"Well, that's good.  She is such a lovely helper you know?  Managed to fix some lights and clean in places I can't quite reach because of the hip and all and just-"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  We'll take her upstairs now."  Sherlock interjected, scooping her up easily before leaving the room.  I followed him upstairs and opened the door to our flat for him.  He walked in and set her down on the sofa before he took off his jacket and threw it over my chair.  I hung up my own jacket, and then begrudgingly fetched his and hung it up as well.  I turned around afterwards to see him straightening up his shirt with a few swipes of his hand before he touched his forehead.  When he frowned at his hand after he pulled it away, I gave him a worried look. 

"You okay?" I asked as I walked over to them, checking Alice over to make sure she wasn't looking any worse. 

"Of course I am."  Sherlock said a bit too quickly for him to actually be telling the truth.  I turned my gaze to him and was surprised to see his forehead bleeding from a small cut above his eyebrow.

 The liar. 

"I thought that we agreed that if you're bleeding, the answer is that you're not 'okay'."  I gave him a stern look as I stepped closer to look at the cut.  I reached up and ran my fingers over the wound gently; thankfully it was small enough that just getting it cleaned up would be enough. 

"The agreement was 'profusely bleeding, burned, or having inhaled toxic gases' John."

"Of bloody course you'd take me literally.  Change the first bit to anytime you're bleeding that's not superficial you git."  I said kindly as I looked at his face.  It was then that I realized just how close we were to one another, especially with my hand still up by his forehead.  Sherlock locked his gaze with mine and I heard him draw in a breath. My eyes entirely didn't wander down to his lips before I managed to clear my throat and step away to go grab a wipe to clean his forehead off.

"Corrected." I heard him softly say as I retreated into the kitchen to grab my first aid kit.  When I returned, he was sitting in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin.  I pulled out a wipe and was cleaning off his cut when I heard Alice jerk awake.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Alice is singing is Interlude by Meghan Trainor.


	12. Spiders on the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might have been my favorite chapter to write.

The sound of a gun firing jolted me awake.  _OhGodno._  My brain stuttered to life as I jerked and sat up, my hand flying to the back of my neck as my eyes snapped open.  My body deflated in relief when I pulled my hand back around to see it free of blood despite the hole that I felt there.  Black dots scattered at the edges of my eyes as I regained my breath. 

"Alice?"

I jumped at the sudden words, my eyes darting around until they fixed themselves on a man.

_John._

Safe. Not a threat.  Sherlock was there as well.  Not those other two men.  That was only a dream.

Just a dream.

My hand felt the gaping hole that wasn't there at the back of my neck again as spiders swarmed from the darkest parts of the room.  I gathered my feet up onto the sofa I was on, my eyes wide.

Why was Sherlock cut?  Were those men actually here...

Right. 

That had been me.

"S-sorry."  I managed to say, my mouth uncooperative.  John swiped a cloth over Sherlock's cut and then sat back on his feet.  Neither of them reacted to the spiders. 

I couldn't take my eyes off them. 

Take them off.  Take them off.  I couldn't stare.

But then they'd crawl into me.

Sherlock was looking at me, John as well.  He looked concerned.

"Alice, how do you feel?  Do you remember what happened?"  John slowly asked before walking over to me as Sherlock watched from his chair.  The spiders scattered and vanished.  Thank goodness.  John was in front of me, kneeling, looking up at me.  When did he get so close?  Wait.  He'd asked me a question.  Right.  Why did my mind feel like it was doused in sludge?

"Dizzy." I said before blinking slowly, trying to stop the walls from moving.  "My head hurts.  I remember coming over to help Mrs. Hudson, and then...I'm sorry Sherlock, you two surprised me."  John glanced up from my wrist where he was trying to find my pulse. Was I slurring my words?  I hoped not.  My neck ached and I reached back to feel it again, just to double check.

Yes. Good.  Safe. No blood.

"It was our fault for surprising you Alice, nothing to apologize for.  I need you to look at me, can you do that?"  I nodded.  Of course I could.  I looked at John, unable to determine the expression on his face.  My eyes skittered away when I saw the shadows moving.  Crap.  I hurriedly looked back until John sighed and nodded, standing up. He looked back at Sherlock. 

"She doesn't seem to have ingested enough to be going into an overdose.  I don't think we need to take her to the hospital, but I need to keep her close until the morning, when the majority of side effects will have passed."  Sherlock nodded from where he sat before he stood and paced a bit.

"She can take the sofa again."  He said with a wave of his hand.  "The problem is how we're going to find Moore."

"Moore?  Sherlock, we can worry about that in the morning.  I think we owe Alice an explanation."

"Why?  She's basically high at the moment, there is only a thirty percent chance she'd remember what we would even discuss.  No John, best to save it for the morning."

"Overdose?" I chimed in, my voice shaking as I shivered.  John whipped his head back around and frowned, standing as he grabbed a blanket before coming back and handing it to me.  I stared down at it. 

Spiders in the corners.

"Nothing serious Alice.  Like Sherlock said, I'll explain more in the morning.  You're fine, honestly."  He said with a warm smile.  So warm.  It melted the spiders that had sprung back up in the corner.  Dumbly, I smiled, feeling myself nod as I stared down at the blanket. 

I suddenly realized where I was.

"I should get home." I said with a move to stand. 

Bad idea.

The room started tipping slowly to one side and I didn't realize I was going with it until I felt John's hands on my arms, steadying me and pushing me back down.

"Hey now, no Alice.  You need to stay here for the night, okay?  Don't worry about it, it's no trouble, right Sherlock?"

"As long as she doesn't get in my way of thinking.  I need to figure out how to find him John."

"Sherlock."  I giggled at the chastising snap John threw the man's way.  Sherlock looked confused by me.  Why was he confused?  It had been cute, endearing.

"Ah.  Okay then, but-but only for tonight."  I said with a nod as John unfurled the blanket he'd given me and spread it over me.  When had I gone from standing to lying down?  How had that happened?  I frowned at the thought, but dismissed it as I snuggled into the warmth the blanket provided. I was so cold. 

"Just give a yell if you need anything or feel worse.  You know where the loo is if you feel sick.  I'll just be upstairs and Sherlock will be somewhere down here just in case."   I nodded that I understood as my eyes closed, feeling utterly heavier than should be feasible.  My thoughts swirled as I heard John walking away and then a few hushed words exchanged with Sherlock.  More steps and then I was left with just Sherlock's brisk gait walking back and forth across the flat.  He should watch out for the spiders.  I mumbled out a warning about them, hoping he'd heard me.  My eyes had decidedly stopped cooperating with me.  His pacing stopped, but started again after a moment or so and I drifted away to that rhythmic sound, the steady beat lulling me to sleep. 

The sweetest violin sounds slowly brought me back to the waking world.  My eyes fluttered and I stretched out like a cat on the sofa, grinning stupidly as the music wrapped around me.  My arms and legs hung off the ends of the sofa until it grew to accommodate me and everything was bliss.

Eyes working a bit better, I opened them fully to see Sherlock, dressing gown growing out of his back and flowing to the ground as he played his violin.  The music danced in glowing colors around his body and I stared in awe, fascinated by the beautiful sight. 

I wanted him to keep playing for forever.

And maybe he did.  I couldn't be sure, but at some point he turned around and slowly drew off his bow as he saw that I was awake.  My mouth was dry as sandpaper but I made my lips move because I had to talk to him. 

"Beautiful.  Beautiful colors."  I fervently said as I pointed to the fading strands of gold and purple that had been floating around him.  He glanced around himself and then it looked like a little lightbulb went off above him.  In fact, I swear one did, appearing for a second and then vanishing. 

"Why are you playing?"  I asked then, before he could speak in return to my first words.  I needed to know.  The couch was still growing, dwarfing me until I was nothing more than a child curled up in a pool of warm cloth.  Sherlock seemed to contemplate the answer for another infinite amount of time before responding. 

"John."  He didn't offer any explanation.  I scowled, stretching out more on the infinite sofa-couch. A sofouch? A cofa?

"He's upstairs, sleeping.  Why play for him then?"  Sherlock looked away from me at this, seeming hesitant to explain himself.  The spiders were coming back, haunting the edges of the room as the darkness grew despite the soft moonlight filtering in through the windows.  The cofa was shrinking down to escape them. 

"Will the spiders get him if you don't play?" The question was out before I could stop myself. 

"Yes, of course." He answered, though the way he said it made me think he was implying something much darker than the spiders. 

"Then you should go upstairs to play.  The music might not work as well from down here." I said with a few nods.  I could brave the spiders.  Though I would miss the colors.  But Sherlock just frowned at me. 

"I can't go up there to him." I pursed my lips.

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"But he likes you and you like him and I'll be okay with the spiders.  I have my infinite cofa." I patted the lovely cofa with a nod.  Sherlock gripped his violin tightly and glared at me.

"You can't possibly know that. And anyways, as I told you before, John's not gay and I respect that."

"He's as straight as I am Sherlock-"

"You're asexual, that's entirely not the same."

"Okay okay true but still.  Just go to him.  Keep away the spiders. It can't hurt."  My eyes had closed on their own as I spoke, leaving my mind clouded in a pleasant darkness.  I heard nothing for about a minute, and I opened my eyes.  Sherlock was staring upstairs with a concerned expression.  I could hear the thumps of the spiders coming from up there. 

He should hurry. 

With a sudden movement, he spun and put his violin away.  That confused me, as it was his weapon, but I didn't comment.  I was already building my defenses with the warm blanket that was around me and by making the cofa as large as it could go.  I smiled as I heard Sherlock leave the room and ascend the stairs before I heard a click of a door.  Another click and then a comfortable silence covered me like my warm blanket.  The spiders quieted, and I fell back asleep, sinking into the comfort.

A growing pain in my shoulder woke me along with rays of sunshine.  A bit dazed, my mind was slow to come around as I tried to figure out why my shoulder hurt.  Why in the world was I laying with my arms all stretched out over a sofa?  My one arm was pinned under me and with a wince I pushed myself up, pins pricking my arm as the feeling returned to it. 

Where in the world was I?

And oh god I was going to vomit.

I immediately scrambled off the sofa and went to run out of my bedroom and into the bath but this wasn't my bedroom.  My hand over my mouth, I had ended up in a kitchen, staring wide-eyed at Sherlock and John.  Both looked surprised and for half a second, none of us moved until Sherlock pointed with a finger to my left.  

I bolted.

Thankfully I managed to make it to the toilet and I vomited there, my stomach heaving even though I doubted there was much in it.  I gripped the side of the toilet, belatedly thinking about how the seat was up and that I didn't like the color of the bile that was swirling in the water. 

"Alice?"  John's hesitant call came from just outside the bathroom door.  I managed a strangled reply as I flushed and wiped my mouth off with some toilet paper before throwing it in as it swirled down.  I looked up to see John peering into the room, a glass of water in his hand.

"You are a saint." I said as I pushed myself to my feet, trying to regain some composure.  I took the offered water and gulped it down, washing away the acidic taste in my mouth.  "Now can you tell me why I'm at your place and not mine?"

"Ah right. Tea?  I just made some and it would do you well to be sitting down for an explanation."  He gave me a sheepish smile and looked back toward said kitchen with a small blush.  I frowned a bit in confusion, but shrugged. 

"That would be wonderful."  I followed him back to the kitchen as I finished up the glass he'd handed me.  Sherlock was sitting at the table at the only seat that didn't seem to be in front of something hazardous, so I ended up pulling out a chair and sitting as far away from the table as I could.  I was suddenly glad that he seemed to have already finished his breakfast, because the crumbs on his plate were making me queasy.  Who knows what a full plate would have made me feel like.

"Here you go."  John said as he handed me a cup of tea.  I wrapped my fingers around it happily as I  watched John move to make up two more cups.  Milk for both, sugar for one.  He took the one over to Sherlock, brushing a hand over his shoulder as he did so.  Sherlock jumped ever so slightly before he relaxed into the touch and murmured a 'thanks' as he took the cup from John.  John gave Sherlock a small smile and then leaned against a counter, sipping his own tea for a moment before clearing his throat.

"So how you ended up here..."

"You drank poisoned tea after receiving a note from a serial killer and I sent you here to help out Mrs. Hudson.  Afterward you proceeded to experience the effects of the poison through hallucinations and John suggested you stay in case you got worse."  John glared at Sherlock, but I had frozen in my seat, tempted to spit out my tea.

Of course it wasn't poisoned though.  John made it. 

I sat there, mouth hanging open as I tried to say something. 

"You will be fine, honestly."  John spoke, giving me a softened look.  "The amount of poison you drank wasn't enough to cause any real harm, but you might experience some after effects throughout today and into tomorrow."    

But I really wasn't listening to his explanation.  Aside from the odd fact that spiders kept coming up when I thought about last night, my mind had frozen on something else.

"What serial killer?"  I stuttered out as I set my tea in my lap, not trusting my hands.  John blanked and then shot a look at Sherlock, who blinked rapidly a few times and then looked back at me.

"Moore, that's who.  I was waiting to inform you until this morning because you were highly intoxicated last night.  The man breaking into your flat is the serial murderer that we were trying to find for another case.  So it would be the case that you're his next victim." 

And then he bloody _grinned_. 

What the hell.

I almost dropped my tea as John glared at Sherlock.

"That isn't a good thing."  John said in a resigned tone as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Don't you see, we've been trying for weeks to find him, and now suddenly we have a perfect way to do so!"  Sherlock exclaimed, the eerie grin coming back. 

"We are not using Alice as bait."

"We don't have to, in fact, we're going to hide her instead."

"What?"  John and I both questioned Sherlock at the same time, though I was feeling horrified and John just looked surprised. 

"Think about it.  Moore intensely enjoys watching his victims die after slowly losing their mind over the course of fifteen days.  Why else would he spread out the poisoning that much?  He could easily sneak in once and give them enough for them to overdose right then and there.  But yet, he waits.  So there's a good chance that if Alice suddenly _lives_ past the last day, he's going to be confused and come check why she was still alive."

"So we are using her as bait."

"Technically yes, but she won't be in any _real_ danger."

"Do I get a say in this?"  I threw in, but the two continued on. 

"Sherlock, if what you say is true then what happens when Moore shows up at her flat?"

"We'll be waiting there of course."

"Then why does Alice even need to be there?"

"Ah, true.   I would suppose that she doesn't.  Mrs. Hudson would love to have her come help again, I'm sure."

"Mmm, well, as long as she wasn't in the flat while we waited for Moore to show up..."

"Exactly.  See, it's a brilliant plan."

"Can I say something?"  I tried again.

"No."  Sherlock immediately said before flinching slightly at the look John was giving him.  He sighed and then grimaced.  "I mean, yes of course.  What is it Alice?"

"Oh, I don't know.  Maybe just that before you go making plans that _involve my bloody life_ you could let me get accustomed to the fact that there was a _fucking serial killer_ _in my flat!"_   I snapped out, my hands tightening around my cup of tea.  Like hell they could just start making plans about me.  I was terrified and probably shaking judging from the way I had split some tea on my lap and this was not okay.

Not okay at all.

My mind couldn't stop thinking about how easy it would be for a fucking serial killer to get back into my flat and these two were discussing how to catch the bastard over tea like it was a lunch chat about old friends and gossip. 

"Alice, I'm sor-"

"Don't apologize John, just-" I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath as I tried to calm down.  "Just...sorry.  This all just got a bit too much for me, okay?  I need a few moments but I'll be fine."  I said before taking a sip of tea and forcing myself to focus on its taste.  John nodded at my words and Sherlock started tapping his fingers on the table in a nonsensical rhythm. 

"A few moments have passed."  Sherlock spoke after about a minute, looking entirely innocent as I groaned.

"Oh my god okay. Yes.  You two were saying about plans?"

"Yes.  All you need to do is continue living in your flat like normal until the end of the countdown.  After that, we'll send you over here and you needn't worry about the rest.  John and I will handle it."

"But what about you two?  Will you be safe?"

"Of course.  John has a gun."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed as Sherlock huffed.

"What?  She knew as soon as she met you that you owned a gun.  Why should it matter that I remind her?  It's not as if she's going to tell anyone important.  Lestrade knows already and I highly doubt that she'll debase herself by talking to Anderson or Donovan."

"What, is his gun illegal?" I asked, and John glanced away with a small flush of color.  I suddenly got the feeling that I shouldn't have asked that question and I hurriedly rushed to make it better. 

"I-I mean your things are your business, and I don't need to know.  But seriously, you two will be safe?"  I asked again, worried.  John walked over to Sherlock and gently gripped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze as Sherlock reached up a hand to cover it.  They both gave me a small smile.

"Of course we will.  Now, I do still have a job at the moment though, and I should be going or else I'll be late."  John said after a few moments, giving Sherlock a caring look. 

I had work.

What time was it?

"Seven thirty-five, Alice.  If you leave now, you'll make it in time."  Sherlock said, startling me a bit as I hadn't voiced my sudden concern.  I breathed a sigh in relief and then nodded, brushing myself off and standing. 

"Thank you, for everything.  After this is over I will owe you something, maybe a few drinks at a pub or something that would be more adequate than my rambling words can think of right now."

"Alice you don't really need to do anything like that..."  John tried to say, but I shook my head.

"Nope.  Deal with it.  You two will be getting something.  It's been decided.  But I need to run.  I'll text you when I get to work."  I said as I spun around and grabbed my jacket from the rack in the other room.  I mentally berated myself as I rushed out of their flat.  Text him when I got to work?  What was I, a teenager? 

I sighed as I stepped outside and into the street, hoping that I could muster up the nerve to go back to my flat and to make it throughout the day.


	13. Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is hard to capture, hence the lateness of this chapter. (Rhyming not intended.) I think I managed to get down what I wanted though, I always have trouble when it comes to writing these types of feelings. Also, on an unrelated note, I somehow managed to mix up Molly's name with Sally's back in like, chapter 3 and that has been fixed. 
> 
> I apologize for any confusion as to why Sally was in the morgue or acting like Molly. 
> 
> If you were wondering, now you know.

_At work._

_..._

_What side effects should I be worried about?_

I was just walking into the clinic when I received Alice's texts and all too easily pictured her fretting over her desk as she waited for a response.  I quickly sent a reply and then greeted Sarah before slipping into my office. 

As I sat down, thoughts of last night swirled around in my mind and I remembered how warm Sherlock's shoulder had felt this morning when he hadn't brushed my hand away. That had been an interesting development from that night that left me with a warm smile.

I'd been having a nightmare -not like that was anything new- and it had been one of the ones where I couldn't manage to wake myself up. 

I hated those nightmares. 

I could deal with the ones where I got shot.

I could even deal with the occasional ones where _Sherlock_ got shot, or somehow seriously injured. 

But the ones that left me shaking when I woke up, sweating so much that my sheets clung to my skin and left me unable to fall back asleep, were the ones where I knew that I was sleeping.  They would start out like any other nightmare, but one thing would be just a bit off about it and I'd realize that nothing was real, it was a dream. 

And sometimes that was enough.

Thinking that is wasn't real was sometimes enough to wake myself from the hail of bullets raining down around me. 

But other times I'd realize I was dreaming and nothing would happen.  I wouldn't wake up, I wouldn't escape the hell of my current nightmare.  It wouldn't be until I was screaming and doing just about anything to escape that the nightmare would release me and I'd wake up shaking and trying to make sure that I was indeed awake. 

Last night I'd had one of those nightmares. 

No matter how much I had tried to claw my way into the waking world, I hadn't been able to find my way out.  That is, until I heard Sherlock calling my name.  I'd followed his voice, tuning everything else in the nightmare out until, thankfully, I was able to wake up. 

I knew that Sherlock knew that I had nightmares.

I knew that he normally played his violin to help me go back to sleep if he was awake when I'd have one. 

What surprised me then was to see him standing at my door when I woke up, watching me with an odd expression as I shivered.  He didn't say a word when I sat up, trying to stop the shudders that shook me. 

I hadn't wanted him to see me like that. 

And then he glanced up and met my eyes, something sad coloring his expression before he hid it.  Another moment and he was walking over to my bed and getting into it on the other side of me.  I'd been shocked at the action, and could only stare as he curled up with his back to me, his face hidden. 

"What are you doing?"  I whispered, half because I didn't trust my own voice to not waver and half because it felt like some invisible rules were keeping me in check. 

"Sleeping."

"In my bed?"  I blinked in confusion.  His back refused to move, his face a mystery. 

"I've heard that people experiencing nightmares sleep better when with someone they trust.  It gives them some feeling of protection.  You do trust me John, don't you?"

"With my life."  I replied quickly, before I even realized what he'd just said.

"Then go to sleep."  He said before he pulled the covers closer around himself as I sat with my mouth hanging open a bit, not sure how to respond. 

Sherlock was in my bed, and though I had stopped shaking, my mind was drifting to places I'd rather not explore until I was sufficiently awake.  A glance at the clock showed me that it was nearing four in the morning, and I sighed, giving in for the time being.  I laid back down and turned on my side, putting my back to Sherlock's before I willed myself to not think about how close he was to me. 

"Goodnight Sherlock."  I whispered, needing to formally end the unexpected conversation before the silence ate my mind.  I closed my eyes and had given up on a response when I heard Sherlock whisper back.

"Goodnight John." 

When morning came, I'd awoken from a thankfully dreamless sleep to find that I was just inches away from being entirely off my bed.  Confused because I'd forgotten about Sherlock, I'd turned and had to stifle laughter at the sight of him sprawled out over almost the entire bed, his face mashed into a pillow.  Savoring the image, I'd slipped out of bed, taken a quick shower, and then went into the kitchen to make some tea and toast.  Along the way I'd checked on Alice, who looked like she was sleeping well but for some reason she was also mainly off the sofa.  Amused, the rest of the morning had rolled out like any other one.

If you didn't count that Sherlock had slept in my bed and some part of me was particularly giddy about that.

Coming back to the present, I blinked as I shut a drawer, having mechanically sorted through my patient files and put them away without realizing it.  Sherlock hadn't mentioned the night before, and neither had I.  I honestly didn't know how to respond, or how to bring it up.  He'd allowed me to practically hold his hand this morning, so that meant something, surely? 

I frowned a bit in frustration, unsure where we even stood anymore.  I highly doubted 'friends' our age could pass off sleeping together as something normal. 

But then again, this was Sherlock.

This could entirely be normal in his book.

But then why hadn't he done it before now? Not that I wanted normal, but I couldn't deny that I found myself wondering lately what it'd feel like to just hold him or press him against the wall and snog him senseless to see if he really felt about me the way I thought he did.  Blushing a bit at that train of thought, I replayed last night over again until until I was called from my office, my patients starting to stream in for the day. 

Later I arrived home after work to find Sherlock in his normal sulking position on the sofa, fingers steepled under his chin and in the midst of a staring match with the ceiling.

"Hello." 

I wasn't surprised when he didn't respond.  I even stared at him for a minute, seeing if he'd give me something after what happened.  But no.  Nothing.  And the longer I stared the more I realized I was quite enjoying just _staring_ at him and that thought threw me off a bit. 

Giving up on a response, I went into the kitchen to see if there was anything edible in our fridge. 

Thankfully, there was, and I heated it up and the evening played out slowly in the normal routine we'd established months ago.  Food, telly, some reading; though all of these were for me.  Sherlock seemed content to continue his staring match and I didn't have the will to disturb him.  He'd come out of it soon enough, and I knew the only time I should arouse him was if he'd been doing it for over a day.  As of now, he was only at about twelve hours if he started after I left for work.  Not in the danger zone yet. 

I looked over at him, over the top of my book (some mystery novel that I'd been hiding in various places in our flat so Sherlock wouldn't read it and spoil the ending for me) and added another finished hour to my tally before realizing that I was staring at him more than I was reading. 

I shut the book and carried it with me as I went to bed, thoughts of Sherlock and Alice's case mixing around in my mind as I hoped Sherlock wouldn't get bored with the days left before the countdown ended. 

I was just about asleep when I heard the door to my room open.  I tensed, but recognized the footfalls as Sherlock's and I cracked open my eyes to see him fidgeting by my door.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Nothing John."

"Okay. Well. Any reason you're standing there?"

"I solved a problem."

"Which one?  The one with the crooked fingers that you kept putting parts in the butter over?"  I teased, moreso annoyed at the fact that I could be sleeping right now instead of looking at Sherlock.

Though, looking at Sherlock was not that bad an option.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked over to my bed as he replied.

"No.  That particular problem requires another round of experiments and some info from my homeless network.  This was another problem and I've solved it."  He finished as he casually popped himself down on the other side of my bed and proceeded to bury himself in a sort of cocoon of sheets.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"  I asked, looking over my shoulder at his, ignoring what the thought of him in my bed was doing to my body. 

"Sleeping."

"In my bed?"

"Of course.  Now go to sleep, John."  I frowned, but conceded that I probably wouldn't be able to get any answer out of him unless I continued badgering him, which sounded like a terrible idea considering I liked the thought of him sleeping with me.

Not that it meant anything.

I just wanted a good night's sleep is all.

Of course.

 So instead, I sighed and curled back up myself, speaking softly.

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight John."

Three more days.

The last three days of the countdown proceeded in much of the same fashion as the day before.  Each morning I woke up to find that I'd happily slept through the night, but was on the verge of being pushed off the bed by a sprawling Sherlock.  I'd get up and do my usual routine and by the time we were both eating some form of breakfast (though Sherlock didn't actually eat anything), there'd be no mention of how we spent the night and when I left for work it was with the small sadness that he still hadn't brought it up.

I wanted him to bring it up.

I wanted him to mention why he was doing it.  I had a good explanation myself, but the new feelings that were making me think this way couldn't be taken into account.  Just because I was feeling this way didn't mean Sherlock was, despite how he was acting.   

The days passed as I worked, and I'd come home to find Sherlock working as well, though on Alice's case.  Files and notes were spread and taped everywhere in the flat, including various pictures of plants and a handful of equations that I could only guess the meaning of.  I'd ask him in the evenings when he'd thump down on the sofa if he'd made any progress into locating Moore, to which he'd grumble and wave his hands in the air in a negative fashion.

And then, every night after I'd gone to bed he'd come into my room and sleep with me, my questions falling away as I relaxed at the idea of a good night's sleep with him at my back.

The day after the countdown ended, I woke up in the morning to see that for once, I wasn't about to be shoved off my own bed.  Instead, I found myself pleasantly warm, encased by a strong pair of arms. 

Sherlock's arms.

Surprised, I didn't dare move as I took in the situation as I opened my eyes.  I was indeed wrapped in Sherlock's arms, quite content.  Warm, I realized I felt safe and that I had no intention of moving to start the trap for Moore.  In fact, I took the moment to lean closer into Sherlock, breathing in his scent -faintly of chemicals and his fancy shampoo- before relaxing again to let my mind drift. 

"John, as much as I enjoy the closeness, it might be for the better if you didn't...cuddle me at the moment."

I froze as Sherlock spoke, shattering my reverie as I pulled away and looked up at his face.  What was he going on about? He was the one that had been holding onto me-

I flushed as I realized that there was a noticeable pressure against my thigh that I really didn't mind and that my body was mimicking it. 

"Oh." I breathed before I scrambled backwards and promptly fell out of my bed before Sherlock looked down at me. 

"That was a miscalculation." He said with the smallest grin as he looked over the edge of the bed. 

"What are you talking about?" I said quickly, flustered as I covered up myself with a hand.

"I didn't think you'd jump out of bed."

"It wasn't like I was trying to fall out!" I threw back as I stood, glaring down at Sherlock, who was casually sprawled over my bed.  Still flustered, I hurriedly left the room without waiting for a response and headed downstairs for a shower.  The thought of being held by Sherlock wasn't helping me calm down and we had things to do that didn't need to be made awkward by my body betraying me.

I most certainly didn't shout his name or picture him during said shower.

And he most certainly didn't mention hearing anything as we drank tea and I munched on some toast for breakfast, interspersing my bites with cleaning and readying my gun. 

_On my way._

I nodded a bit to myself at Alice's text, knowing that it wouldn't take her long to reach our flat and that everything would be falling into motion quickly.  I grinned at the thought of waiting for Moore, not having done something that thrilling since that last case that'd heavily involved Sherlock's homeless network.  Honestly, we'd had to track a murderer through the networks and even after receiving the help of numerous people in his network, I still didn't have much idea how he even knew who or where they all were. 

I had just finished with my gun and tucked it into the back of my waistband when we heard the buzzer go off downstairs.  Sherlock gave me a shy grin and then bounded to his feet, across the room in three strides and somehow already in his coat by the time I reached him.  I shrugged my coat on as well as he hurried down the stairs.  We ran into Alice in the foyer.

"Hello."  Alice awkwardly waved, her fingers curling in the air like a small child's before she seemed to realize what she was doing and tucked her hand into her pocket.  I quickly gave her a once over, glad to see that she wasn't showing any signs or after effects of the poison.  Though, she did seem a bit jittery from the way she stepped back from us as we hit the landing and jumped a touch when Mrs. Hudson came into the hall as well. 

"Oh just welcome back Alice.  Feeling a mite better now?  Come on, we best leave the boys to what they do best."  Mrs. Hudson said with a warm smile as she ushered Alice toward her rooms. 

"Yes, better get going Mrs. Hudson.  I'm sure you have a lot for her to do."  Sherlock said as he tied his scarf around his neck, as if daring me to follow the motion.  Blinking, I pulled my gaze away from Sherlock in time to see Alice turn around with a small frown.

"What is it Alice?"  I asked, frowning a bit as well.  Was there something she'd forgotten to tell us?

"Just...don't do anything stupid, okay?" Sherlock snorted at her words, standing up taller and brushing his coat flat.

"Impossible." He said with a smirk before he spun and was out the door, leaving me to glance back at Alice quickly.

"I'll make sure he doesn't."  I hastily added before I took off as well, going after Sherlock.


	14. In all their stupidity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a small break between updates because the story decided that flipping to Alice for her 'turn' was the incorrect thing to do and it took me awhile to realize that that had happened because Donald over here was poking and yelling at me to let him have his turn.
> 
> So here is his (short) turn.
> 
> Be warned, he likes to cuss. Also, the next update will be normal length and will be soon.

All of them were just _idiots._

The whole fucking lot of them.

My hand twitched at the thought and my drink shook in response, which I couldn't have.  I couldn't let my hand twitch or shake.

That wasn't normal.

And at the moment, I was playing normal.

It was a decidedly fun game, and it gave me the chance to watch the idiots that had eaten up my smiles and deemed me to be a good person.  I couldn't stop a grin at that thought, because they were all so wrong. 

Smiles were for more than being nice.

"Sir, would you like more to drink?"

I blinked, startled a bit from my thoughts before I fell into my act, a soft smile spreading over my face as I glanced up at the waitress.

"Of course, thank you very much."  Light tone, close my eyes with the smile, and a small hand gesture to complete the act.

Unlike the two idiots that were casually bumbling their way into the building across the street from me.  Did they really think that I didn't know they were there?  That they weren't the oh so trusting Alice that I had positively _loved_ watching slip into chaos?  I snorted into my cup, nodding thanks when the waitress brought me another full one. 

Smoothly switch the straw and take a sip.  Ruffle the newspaper on my table and glance down at it for a second or two.  That would be enough for these imbeciles. 

I wanted Alice.

But no, I can't frown. 

I may think about her and the beautiful way she fell into confusion, but her absence mustn't make me frown.  I'm just reading the paper.  There's bad news, but frowning is personal.  Personal begs people to ask you questions.

And I really don't want questions. 

So instead, I let my mind wander to back to Alice, but before she left yesterday.  She hadn't been showing any negative effects.  Most likely because fuck-you number one and two told her what was going on.  They ruined her, the bastards.  Alice had been one of my favorite experiments so far.  So paranoid already, I loved watching every double-take she did.  Every flinch was heaven, every twitch was a symphony. 

 And then she went to that see-saw pair and that beauty had been weaned out.

Shit, I am frowning again.  The waitress is looking my way.  One quick sip of my drink and a soft smile that fades into a blank reading face and...perfect.  She's been distracted with something else, of course.  She's fairly oblivious as well. 

But back to the problem at hand, my eyes glance up at I watch the idiots vanish into her place.  Waiting for me, most likely.  Too bad for them that I wouldn't be showing up today.  No, I would _only_ show up for Alice.  She might be thinking clearly for now, but I could easily fix that.  Might be a bother with the idiots around but I could easily take care of that.  Perhaps even try out a few new recipes on her. 

Yes, that would be just _brilliant_.

I can picture it now; the way her body would slowly collapse as she realized what was happening.  The way she'd wake up and flinch at everything, her breath rapid as she strained herself to find me, to pick me out among the greenery, afraid to touch anything.  The languid aspect of her motions and the syrupy sweet way she'd end up talking-

I shuddered with pleasure at the thought and hid that specific smile. 

I could pull that one out later.

Because for now, it was a bit inappropriate for the play, and I couldn't be having that.  No, I had to perfect my part.  Bastard one and two might be idiots, but they were pesky and making my fun a bit harder to partake in.  I had created more fun ideas for Alice because of them though, so I figure that I do have to give them some credit.  Just a little bit.  Maybe I could sneak something into a package of their tea?  Or perhaps their milk, though that would be harder.  Not enough for them to think of me, oh no.  They would just hunt me down more, which wouldn't be interesting. 

I'd put in just enough of something to make them a bit sick.  I chuckled at the thought of the tall idiot sick.  He was the bigger asshole here, after all.  The love struck little one just followed him around as a sidekick.

No powers and never really useful.

Didn't need to worry about that short one.

I couldn't help but smirk softly. No one saw, I am fine.  Just a personal chuckle at something amusing in case someone did see.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  I am perfect in my act, after all.

A glance at my watch tells me it's been almost thirty minutes.  They were just going to wait in there all day for me to show up, weren't they?  I sighed and sipped my drink.  I could play the waiting game too. 

Because I'm smarter.

I've food, drink, and not a worry in the world as those two idiots starve the day away on high alert.  They have no idea when I might show up (even though I won't) and they won't be able to relax.  They'll end up tired and in a bad mood before they trudge home.

Alice should return then.

Beautiful, beautiful Alice should return.  She _had_ to return.

Because I'm not done with her.

And I want to see their faces when they realize that.


	15. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy~ Slightly longer chapter and it was lots of fun.

With every hour that passed, I grew more and more tempted to send John a message, asking him if they were both okay.  I spun my phone in my hands and frowned, knowing that I shouldn't, lest it break their cover.

I'd arrived this morning, welcomed by Mrs. Hudson and assured by John that between him and Sherlock, they'd get Moore.  Mrs. Hudson had proceeded to hurry me into her rooms and into the lovely smell of fresh cookies in the oven.  She fussed around me, somehow getting me into an apron and handing me a bowl to stir in a matter of seconds as my mind tried to not think about Moore.  Despite knowing that both John and Sherlock were fully able to take care of themselves, I couldn't help but worry, envisioning too many ways that their plan could go haywire.  It wasn't until Mrs. Hudson swacked me with a spoon and told me to stir that I got away from it all for awhile. 

Baking didn't take up as much time as I would have liked, though.  And when we finished my mind drifted back to John, my hands fidgeting as I thought up another way that Moore might surprise them and kill them. 

Kill them.

Just like that.

And then I'd get a call.

At that thought I had thrown my phone across the room and startled Mrs. Hudson.  She frowned, and then dragged me to my feet and set me to work around her place, fixing and cleaning various things.  But even with a lunch break, we finished just after one.

Now I was sitting upstairs in Sherlock and John's place, spinning my phone (Mrs. Hudson had given it back to me) and trying not to call or text John.

Surely no word from them meant that Moore just hadn't shown up yet, right?  They were perfectly fine.  John had taken his gun, after all.  I'd seen in hidden under his jacket where it'd been the day we'd met in that cafe. 

They were _fine._

Mrs. Hudson had given up on keeping me occupied and had gone off to do some shopping.  She said she'd be back in a few hours, and told me to not run off to make sure they were okay.

As if I could actually do that.

As much as I worried for the pair, the thought of actually leaving this safe haven and heading back to my flat where Moore might be is horrifying.  I shuddered, almost falling off the side of the couch that I had managed to perch upon like a little girl. 

This wasn't normal.  _I_ wasn't normal.

Here I was, my knees to my chest, staring out the window as I perched upon a couch's side, twirling a phone in my hands as I waited for them to come home or to get a goddamn call. 

I really didn't want a call.

Frustrated with myself, I threw my phone on the coffee table and glanced around the room, doing my best to think of something to do that would pass the time.  A clock in a corner read 2:35pm, mocking me as it dared not change.  I stared at it until it ticked to 2:36pm and then pushed myself off the couch. 

Pacing the room kept me occupied for a matter of minutes before my mind stopped counting my paces and turned to another scenario where Moore had been waiting for Sherlock and John and had knifed them upon entry. 

I flinched, and stopped pacing enough to take in the room.  Like normal, all manner of clutter was covering every inch of the place.  Pieces of paper with notes about plants and my case were tacked to the walls and books were strewn over the bookcase and onto the floor.  Sherlock's violin case was in a corner by one of the windows, with various pieces of sheet music around the small stand, as if blown there by the wind. 

I knew I shouldn't pry.  I really knew I shouldn't.

I had picked up the sheet music before another minute had passed, my curiosity getting the better of me.  I wanted to know what Sherlock liked to play.  I'd never heard him play before, but if Mrs. Hudson was correct, he played beautifully.  I honestly didn't doubt her.  But to my surprise, the sheet music wasn't Bach or something of the like.  Instead, it was pages and parts of half-written scores in Sherlock's handwriting.  Many parts were scratched out or blotted over with ink; some pages even had holes in the paper as if he'd gotten angry at what he wrote and had punched it out.

What I could see, looked amazing. 

Granted, I wasn't a violinist, and hadn't played an instrument in years, but the notes that were legible looked fluent and complicated.  I smirked at the thought of Sherlock writing this music and hummed a few notes to myself as I picked up the rest of the fallen sheets. 

I couldn't help but laugh at the titles of the pieces, when there were titles. 

_For That Annoying Brother of Mine_

_Experiment A47, Part 1.6 Locale #4_

I snickered at that, shaking my head at the absurdity of that.  How in the world did he manage to follow that?  There were others still that had random letters for titles, ones I suspected were anagrams that only Sherlock would know.  I smiled and shuffled through a few more that I had picked up before a particular title caught my eye.

_John_

I blinked in surprise and gently set the pages down on his stand, holding onto the one labeled 'John' as I glanced over it.  I probably shouldn't be looking at it.  I _really_ shouldn't be looking at it.  But then again, it wasn't like I was going to use it as blackmail or something. 

I ran my fingers over the notes, taking in the complex notations and fluidity of the piece.  It was one of the few that barely had anything crossed out, as if he had the easiest time writing this piece.  Well, if it was for or about John of course he'd had an easy time with it.  It was a few pages total, and I flipped through them, wishing I could hear what it sounded like as I ignored the part of me yelling to just put them down. 

No phone call.

No sound on the stairs.

I had some time.

It just looked so beautiful.  I tried to hum a few notes, and then gave up, deciding instead to ask him after this mess was over if he might play it. 

Oh wait, I couldn't ask him that.

I wasn't supposed to see this, and John probably wasn't either.  Sherlock would be furious if he knew I'd seen this.  Flinching, I quickly shuffled the pages behind the rest of the ones on the stand, making sure they were well hidden before I turned around to survey the rest of the room.

The fucking clock in the corner mocked me, reading 2:59pm.

The thought of John and Sherlock being poisoned with some airborne chemical floated through my mind and I winced.  I really needed to keep distracting myself. 

But how?

I walked around the room a few times before I saw something I could do. 

Everything in the place was covered with a fine veil of dust.  I ran my fingers over a few books on the floor and grinned at the dust left on my fingers. 

I could work with this.

They wouldn't even have to know what I did.  They'd just come back to a dust-free space and it'd be wonderful and then I would kill time and not feel like sneezing and oh god what if they showed up before I was done and-

I shoved my worries away and wandered into their bathroom to find some cleaning tools.  I'd clean and put everything back exactly the way it was.  Down to the last ridiculous pile of books on the floor.  Sherlock would have to be at least a bit impressed with that.

Determined, I rounded up cleaning supplies while ignoring the jar of eyes under the bathroom sink and then set to work.

The clock read 3:07pm.

By the time Mrs. Hudson had come back and brought me a bit to eat, I'd been over half-way done with my cleaning spree.  She had walked into the living room, calling 'Yoo-hoo!' and then letting out a laugh as I looked up from where I had been buried around piles of books.  Thankfully, she didn't question what I was doing and instead just set the food down and opened a window.

"For some fresh air, of course."  She'd said before she'd stepped out and I heard her walking back downstairs.    I'd taken a break, pointedly not looking at my phone or the evil clock and instead stared at my food until I'd finished.  Refreshed, I'd gotten back up and dove back into cleaning, returning to the conversation I'd been having with myself about the morality of essentially snooping-

 _Cleaning_.

Definitely not _snooping_.

Just cleaning my way through their things.  I figured that I could've done worse things, with being here an entire day alone and bored.  I could picture Sherlock in the same position and I figured that might be how that weird smiley face had ended up on his wall with holes shot into it.  Yup.  I could be doing a lot worse. 

By the time I had actually finished my cleaning rampage of the living room and everything was back in its original location, I chanced a look at the clock.

11:48pm.

Surprised at the time, I scrambled for my phone and checked for any messages or calls.  I hadn't heard it going off but maybe I'd just missed it...

The blank screen was like a slap in the face.

A fresh wave of worry rushed through me and I bit my lip, hesitating.  Should I call John?  Surely they'd either gotten Moore or Moore had gotten them by now.  My fingers lingered over the screen for a few more moments before I gave in and sent John a message, hoping that it might be less intrusive than a call if they were in a tight situation.

_Hey, you two alright?_

I sent the message and then curled up on the sofa, listening to the noise of the city at night filter in through the still-open window as I waited for a response.  Time stretched as I started spinning my phone again and I willed John to reply.  They were alright, right?  Just because he wasn't responding didn't mean that something had happened to them.  There could be any number of plausible reasons that he hadn't responded.  Probably just hadn't heard-

The door to their apartment sudden swung open and I yelped, dropping my phone and clutching a pillow to use as a distracting weapon. 

"Alice?"  The inquiring call of John's voice brought me back to reality as Sherlock and he stepped into their place, the one looking worried and the other a bit amused. 

"Oh thank god."  I softly sighed before releasing the pillow and shakily standing to meet them. 

"You okay?"  John asked with a worried look as Sherlock took off his coat and hung it on a peg by the door.  John followed to do the same as I nodded and shoved my phone into my pocket.

"Yes. Of course I am. Yes.  Sorry.  Just surprised me was all."  I let out a nervous laugh and fiddled with my hands.  John hung his jacket and gave me a sympathetic look.

"Sorry Alice, we thought you'd be down with Mrs. Hudson still.  We were going to come get you after we got back."

"Right. Well, what even took-"

"How in the world did you manage to do this?" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, cutting me off.  I froze, realizing that of course he'd have noticed what I'd cleaned.  _Shit._   I awkwardly coughed and backed up to the wall as Sherlock walked around the room, carefully inspecting everything. 

"What are you going on about Sherlock?" John asked, a confused expression coloring his face.

"I'm really sorry for intruding but I was really bored and didn't have anything to do after cooking and well-"

"Alice?"

"Yes?" I hesitantly said in response to Sherlock as he stopped his inspection and turned around, a smirk on his face.

Wait, he wasn't mad?

"I'm impressed that you didn't muck things up."  I let out a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall behind me.  Thank goodness he wasn't mad.

"Anyone care to fill me in?" John asked as he walked over to me, giving me a look that said I should probably stop hiding against the wall.  I did as his expression asked as he sat down in his chair and Sherlock sat in his.

"I...might have cleaned up your room while I was waiting." I said as I sat back down on the sofa, facing the pair.  John blinked in surprise and glanced around their place.

"But everything looks exactly the same...?"  Sherlock rolled his eyes and pointed to a stack of books.

"You see but don't observe John, she cleaned all the dust and grime from everything and cleverly put everything back in the same spot.  Knows us well."  I blushed a bit at that and looked away.  John looked around the room again with a small grin.

"Huh. Well.  Thanks Alice.  Sherlock's always griping at me when I even try to clean and Mrs. Hudson can only do so much when she brings us food." 

"Yes John, we all know.  But getting back to important things, I'm sure Alice wants to know what happened all day."  I nodded, sitting up a bit straighter on my seat. 

"I do.  I'm guessing you didn't get Moore?"  John glanced at Sherlock, the pair sharing a moment before John cleared his throat and started to talk.

"No...we didn't.  He didn't come by the entire day."

"Going entirely against what he was most likely to do, I might add."  Sherlock said a bit sharply.  He looked annoyed at the idea that his plan had been wrong and quite frankly, I didn't blame him.  But why hadn't Moore shown up?

"He didn't show up anywhere around my place either, did he?"  I asked, trying to cover the bases. 

"I sent John to check for that, but no."

"I never saw him when I left Sherlock.  And I made sure to check the places across the street as well."  I frowned and then bit my lip, worrying about what was coming next.

Oh god I'd have to go home tonight.

"Alice?  It's going to be okay, you know.  If he didn't show up today that doesn't mean we've lost him."  John said encouragingly, though it didn't dispel my worry.  They were going to say it.  Any second now.

I would have to go home.

"Of course, he might just know she's come to us and is waiting for her to go home." Sherlock bluntly added, waving a hand through the air nonchalantly.

" _Sherlock!_ "  John snapped, glaring at Sherlock as I tried not to imagine that situation. 

"What?  It's most likely his plan if he's aware that she's come to us for help."  Sherlock defended himself, looking a bit confused.

"Not helping me feel any better though."  I threw in, hoping that someone would decide where I was staying tonight. 

"But it's good bait."  Sherlock said with a small grin that make my stomach twist. 

"Sherlock, I thought we already decided that we weren't going to use Alice as bait-"

"Well of course, but that was before I realized that Moore might know a bit more about Alice than I had expected.  Think of it John!  We just have to follow her home.  Then Moore would show up and-"

"We are not going back out tonight after that day."  John angrily said, making me flinch and then wonder what the hell had happened between them during the day.  Sighing, I fiddled with my hands a bit more before deciding that I needed to stand up at least a bit for myself.

"It's fine, I'll go home for the night.  No need to watch over me.  It's just a few hours after all, shouldn't be a problem.  I have your numbers if anything happens."  I tried to sound positive despite the fact that _this was not okay_ and I wanted to sleep on this sofa.  But I had knives and I would be okay right?  John gave me a concerned look.

"See, she's even agreeing to do it John." 

"That doesn't mean that she's okay with it."

"Really, I am."  I insisted, trying to look as genuine as I could.  John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before giving in. 

"Okay. But only if you give us a call if anything seems out of the ordinary, alright?"

"Of course."  I said before standing and heading to the door.  I wasn't shaking.  I could do this.

"Sherlock, I'm going to walk her home.  I'll bring something back for us to eat, okay?"  John said as he stood and grabbed his coat again.  I slipped mine on as he did, thankful that he'd at least be walking me back.  Sherlock grumbled, but nodded, waving us off before he spread  himself out on his chair, folding his hands together and getting lost in his thoughts. 

"Thanks John."  I said as we exited the building and headed back to my place.  He gave me a small smile and sighed.  A bit worried, I stepped around some puddles and then glanced back at him.  "Something happen today?"  My eyes widened as I realized all the mischief that Sherlock could've gotten into.  Seeing this, John laughed and waved off my worry.

"Don't worry.  I made sure that he didn't go snooping through your things.  He managed to find a large amount of knives in your kitchen before I stopped him, but that's it.  I promise."  I chuckled, though it came out more as nervous laughter as my thoughts slipped back to the rest of the night.  I would be so alone.  

"Thanks for that.  I was a bit worried."  John gave me a reassuring smile.  "But seriously, you two okay?" 

"Yeah."  He said softly before looking away.  I left it alone then, since he looked like he honestly was okay.  Maybe I was just seeing things back in their apartment, too many cleaning fumes most likely.  Regardless, we were suddenly already back at my place and I was facing the rest of the night.  Steadying my voice, I turned to face John, giving him a forced smile.

"Well, here's my stop.  I can't thank you enough for all the help John, honestly."  He gave me a worried look, but nodded.

"If you need anything, just call."

"I will."

"Good.  Have a good night then Alice."  he said before he turned and headed back to his safe haven.  Steeling myself, I walked into my building and to my place, stopping outside my door with my keys in my hand. 

 I could do this.

Moore wasn't waiting for me on the other side of the door. 

Of course not.

I was perfectly safe for now.  He wasn't coming tonight and I'd be okay and would go back to work in the morning and we'd figure out a new plan.  Of course.  Right.  I just had to open my door.

...

Any second now.

Shaking myself, I cursed under my breath and shoved my keys into the lock and jerked it open.  I was being ridiculous.  I'm a grown woman and I could deal with this.  I was already getting enough help as it was.

That still didn't stop me from grabbing a large knife from the kitchen as soon as I shut and locked my door though.  I gripped it tightly, taking off my jacket and hanging that up as my eyes flicked around my room, judging the shadows.  When I was sure that no one was in any of my rooms, I sat against my main door, still gripping the knife, as I debated on whether or not I should try to sleep.  I wasn't even sure if that was a feasible option, but maybe if I stayed where I was I'd be able to get a few hours.  At the very least, I'd be woken up if someone tried to open my door and I'd have time to react. 

Nodding to myself in the dark, I curled up against my door and closed my eyes, willing myself to stop shaking and to go to sleep.

Of course, I wouldn't be allowed that relief.

Eyes heavy, I glanced at the clock across the room, blearily taking in the 3:48am before I groaned.  I just couldn't keep my eyes closed.  If I did, I'd start wondering about what might be in the shadows despite the fact that I knew that nothing could be in them since I'd checked.  But what if I'd missed something? 

The room spun slightly and I realized that I'd need to get something to drink or I'd be in more serious trouble than just having to deal with a serial killer breathing down my back. 

But water was in the kitchen.

Which meant that I'd have to stand and leave to go get it.  I fidgeted, debating if I really needed the water or not when the room decided to start spinning again.

Yeah, I needed to go get water. 

Clutching the knife to my chest, I hurriedly unfolded myself and dashed into the kitchen.  I might have stumbled into the wall on the way there, but I made it.  I sighed in relief as I downed a glass of cool water, my vision deciding to work with me.  I filled my glass up again and then dashed back to my door, relieved when I saw that it was still closed. 

I honestly thought that it'd be open when I got back. 

Thankfully, that wasn't the case.  I sat down and set my cup on the ground with a sigh, leaning back against my door to settle in the for the rest of the night.

And then I heard the click.

The door at my back shifted ever so slightly closed and I froze, my eyes widening as I snapped my head up and looked around my place.  _Oh god._  

He was here.

He was fucking here and I needed to call John and shitshitshitshit _shit._ I fumbled in my pocket for my phone and pulled it out, trying to pull up John's number as I tried to find where that asshole had gone.

The shadows were dancing, mocking me as the room decided to start spinning again. 

A lavender scent tickled my nose, pleasant, but out of place. 

Realizing that I shouldn't be smelling any scent, I pinched my nose shut and frantically tried to find Moore.  I couldn't see him where was John's number and _shit_ I couldn't see him.  Finally finding John's number, I was about to hit call when a floorboard creaked.  I couldn't stop now though.  I pushed on and hit call just as a soft sound rushed toward me from my side and I spun in time to see Moore coming at me with a horrible grin. 

I screamed and lurched to my feet, lifting the knife for a moment before my eyes decided to stop working.  I tried blinking, but the world spun and Moore tripled and when I stabbed at him with my knife it didn't go into anything.  I heard him chuckle and realized that holding my nose didn't stop the air coming into my lungs through my mouth.  Idiot.  My phone clanked to the floor and my hands stopped working and then I think I followed it a moment later.

All I know is that darkness closed over me like a blanket as I heard a chuckle.

\---

As soon as I started to wake up and felt a cold floor beneath my face, I didn't want to wake up.

This was a nightmare.

I flinched as I thought about where I might be, still refusing to open my eyes. 

Moore had gotten me. 

The bastard had won this round and now I was god-knows-where and I bet I didn't have my phone because this was a literal nightmare.  I reached down to my pockets and tried not to be disappointed when I didn't feel my phone.

Okay Alice.

I needed to think. 

Taking a breath, I finally opened my eyes and pushed myself to my feet, swaying a bit before I caught my balance.  I blinked in surprise as I looked around me, seeing nothing but greenery and flowers.  Warm air brushed past my arms, and a heavy flowery scent hung in the air.  The roof hung high above me.

Where the hell was I?

It was like something straight out of a novel, with the amount of green things I could see.  But then again, Moore had brought me here and that meant that everything was likely to kill me if I touched it.  I stopped myself from reaching out to feel one of the various flowers and tucked my hand close to me, trying to figure out what I should do. 

Well, I still had my clothes, which was always a good sign, right?

Nodding to myself, I pretended I wasn't starting to shake and that my heart wasn't racing as I picked a direction and started walking. 

It didn't help that the lighting was very dim and I could barely see more than a few feet in front of myself.  Regardless, I kept walking, the thought of waiting for Moore to find me spurring me on.  I mean, maybe I could find an exit?

I grimaced at the thought, knowing that it couldn't be that easy.  Of course not.  Moore had me and was going to do who knows what and then kill me and bloody hell I was _terrified._

I somehow managed to keep walking though, despite my spiraling thoughts.  I kept expecting Moore to pop out as I rounded every turn, flinching and then nervously sighing when he wasn't there.  More and more flowers greeted me as I went, though I didn't dare touch them. 

Suddenly, I noticed a spot where the light seemed a bit brighter than the rest.  I probably shouldn't have started walking toward it though.  Honestly, that was just what Moore probably wanted me to do.  Like a moth, I would go to the light.  I knew this, I knew I shouldn't and yet-

Thinking about going back into the hazy mist of the other areas made me shiver.

So like an idiot, I kept walking until I was in the well lit area.  I was shocked to see that Moore wasn't there.  Instead, there was a beautiful fountain with terraces decked in various orchids and other exotic plants.  Despite myself, I walked closer to stare in fascination.

It was then I heard the soft fall of footsteps.  I spun around, raising my arms in some semblance of self-defense when I saw Moore step into view, giving me an eerie smile.  He waved and tilted his head as I didn't think about how he would kill me.

"Hello Alice!  So glad we can finally get started."


	16. Following

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John was highly disgruntled about what I wanted to write, and proceeded to try and prevent me from writing it. I'd say he only half-succeeded. That aside, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also, Greg is really run to write. Especially grumpy and tired Greg.

I was worried about Alice.

When I dropped her off she'd seemed jittery and unfocused, and I'd almost invited her back to our apartment for the night.  But she'd vanished into her building before I could, and so I had left, checking my phone a few times on the way home in case she changed her mind.  She didn't text me though, and so I pushed my worry to the back of my mind and steeled myself to face Sherlock.

What had happened in Alice's apartment today had been...odd to say the least.  It shouldn't have been anything new -we'd been on a stakeout before- but today had felt different.  There was a tension in the air as we waited, and more than once I found my thoughts drifting to things like how it would feel to just walk across the room and kiss him.  I had blushed more than once at my own mind, denying that anything was up when Sherlock questioned me, and we'd lapsed back into silence. 

By the time I'd gotten back to our apartment and walked upstairs, Sherlock was in his usual place, sprawled out on the sofa with his fingers under his chin. 

"I'm back."  I said mostly to myself as I hung up my coat, knowing that Sherlock was probably too far gone in his mind to really hear me.  He grumbled something under his breath and I shook my head before heading upstairs to my room.  It was late after all, might as well try to get some sleep.  I most certainly didn't smile at the thought that Sherlock might join me again tonight like he had for the past few nights. 

I really had to stop expecting him to do that.  It'd only been for a few days, but I was already so used to the idea of sleeping with him that I'd forgotten how odd it was that he'd been sleeping at night.  Granted, he was normally up before I was, but he was still going to bed at a fairly normal time.  I couldn't expect it to last. 

With a small sigh, I got ready for bed and within minutes had set my phone on my nightstand, the ringer turned on high in case Alice called me.  I crawled into my bed, pretending that Sherlock was beside me, and quickly fell asleep.

The sudden high-pitched sound of my phone going off woke me in the middle of the night.  Slow from sleep, I fumbled in the dark for my phone, adrenaline shooting through me as I realized only one person would be calling me at such a time.  Alice's name flashed across the screen along with a 3:50am timestamp before I hurriedly accepted the call.

"Alice? Are you okay?" I rushed to say, already rubbing the sleep from my eyes and swinging my feet over the side of my bed, ready to move.  But instead of Alice's voice on the other end, I was greeted with silence.

"Alice?"  I questioned again, my voice laced with worry as the silence continued until I heard a door slam shut.  Cussing, I ended the call and stumbled around my room getting dressed, making sure I tucked my gun into the back of my pants before I rushed downstairs, calling out for Sherlock.

But he wasn't on the sofa.

I paused when I didn't see him, not having thought he'd go back to his room.  I briefly felt slighted that he hadn't come upstairs to sleep with me, until I reminded myself that it wasn't like we were anything more than good friends.  He had no obligation to join me.  I turned on my heel then and headed to his room, not bothering to knock as I called out to him again.

And yet again, I was greeted with silence. 

 _Shit._ I flicked on the light to make sure his room was empty and then I was gone, running out our door as I pulled on my coat, cussing Sherlock to hell and back for having left without me.

 _"Of course, he might just know she's come to us and is waiting for her to go home"_ His words from before Alice left rang in my mind as I started toward Alice's place, walking fast enough that it was almost everything but a run.  The bloody bastard just _had_ to run off on his own, didn't he?  I grit my teeth in anger, guessing that he'd gone back to Alice's place after I'd gone to bed.  If Moore had show up for Alice, then he'd probably seen and either gotten involved or followed them.  But then why had I gotten a call from Alice's phone? 

I frowned at that thought as I rounded the turn to her place.  Alice most likely had already been taken when that call was made or I'd have heard her calling out for me, or at least the sounds of a struggle.  But if Sherlock had called me, then why hadn't he used his own phone?  Growing more worried that Moore might've called me after knocking them both out as a way of gloating, I picked up my pace and reached Alice's place. 

Thankfully, it was late (or rather early) enough that no one stopped me as I entered the building and went back to her door.  When I reached it, it was propped slightly open and I froze, listening for sounds from the other side.  Hearing nothing, I slowly pushed open the door and looked inside, seeing nothing but darkness.  It didn't look like anyone was in the room but...I flicked the lights on and held my breath.

An empty room greeted me.

I relaxed slightly as I realized that no one was here before I stepped inside and looked around for Alice's phone.  The scent of lavender hung in the room and I faintly wondered if Alice had burned something when I saw her phone sitting on the floor next to a spilled cup of water.  I picked it up as I looked around for anything else that was out of place, trying to piece together what'd happened.  But everything else seemed to be where it'd been earlier that day, aside from the spilt cup.  I grimaced and opened her phone, checking to see that yes, she'd called me at 3:50am.

But wait.

My eyes widened as I looked at her previous calls list and saw that another call had been placed from her phone at 3:48am.  That wasn't the odd part though.  What was odd was that the call was placed to a number that wasn't even a full number, and the start of it looked like my own number. 

A lightbulb went off in my mind as I connected the pieces.  I turned back toward the door and tried to picture what'd happened.

Alice must've answered the door-

She wouldn't have answered the door.  She was petrified when we'd come home earlier and she hadn't even been in her own house.  She would have called me as soon as she heard someone knock on the door and-

Moore hadn't knocked.  Why would he?  If he was able to break into her apartment over three times before, he wouldn't have knocked.  Which meant that he'd picked his way in and Alice must've heard him or been waiting.  The dysfunctional call to the short number must've been her trying to call me.  I wasn't Sherlock though, the room told me nothing about what he'd done to subdue her.  I winced at that thought before pushing it away.  I needed to keep thinking.

So Alice had been taken.  Sherlock had come over here though, most likely before she was taken.  He would've probably hidden somewhere he could see her door, and then when he saw Moore break in...he hadn't tried to stop him?  Granted his morals weren't always the best, but I knew he wouldn't just let someone be kidnapped in front of him unless...

What if Sherlock had wanted to find where Moore's base was?  As much as I hated the thought of it, I could see him waiting until she was taken and then following Moore straight back to his base.  In fact, now that I thought about it, that had to have been what he'd done.  But then why did he call me from her phone?  That was the one bit of information that still wouldn't make sense until I realized how fast he must've been to run after Moore.  He couldn't have taken the chance that Moore heard him on the phone.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

Sherlock had called me and ran out, shutting the door -which I heard on the call- and chasing after Moore.  I smirked as I pulled out my phone and pulled up a well-used internet page for tracking phones.  I typed in Sherlock's information as I left Alice's place, making sure to shut the door before I hit the streets.  As the scanner started loading, I started trying to flag down a cab while typing a message to Greg.  I was about halfway through my message when I realized that he probably wouldn't see the message for a few more hours.  I mean, why the hell would he be awake right now?  A cab pulled over to the curb as I called Greg, slipping into the cab.  I frowned as the ringer kept going in my ear, willing Greg to pick it up when the call finally connected.

"Greg, I need your help."  I said as soon as I heard a mumbled hello from the other end.

"Wha? Wait, John?  What's going on?"  I heard a grumbled sigh. "This better not be because Sherlock blew up your kitchen again..."  I winced, mentally apologizing again for that when the cabbie suddenly snapped at me.

"For the last time bud, where are ya headed?"  I jumped and pulled my phone away from my ear as I looked at the cabbie.  Hadn't I...?  Right.  I faintly heard Greg asking me what was going on, but I ignored him as I pulled up the tracker page.  It had finished loading, and had given me an address.

"Greg, just hold on one second."

"What do you mean- John, what's going on?"  I read off the address to the cabbie and let out a small sigh of relief when he grumbled but started driving.

"Okay, sorry Greg, had to tell the cabbie where I'm headed."

"Cabbie?  Why are you in a cab this early?  For that matter, why don't you just _tell me what the hell is going on?"_ I glanced out the window, trying not to picture what could be happening to Sherlock and Alice as I started explaining. 

"Remember that case I mentioned we were on when we were in your office?"

"I do, the one with that women right?"

"Yes. Well...long story short, Alice was kidnapped and Sherlock went after her without me or any backup, since apparently he didn't call you."  Silence fell on the other end after I finished and I was about to ask Greg if he was still there when he started cussing.  

"Of course the idiot did that! Jesus.  Just.  Did you track his phone?  Where did he end up?"  Greg said as I heard him get out of bed and start to put clothes on.  I glanced back at my phone to double check the address before I repeated it back to him.  

"Hey bud, we're here.  This where you wanted?"  I started in surprise and looked at the cabbie, glancing outside to see a large warehouse before I looked back at him and nodded.

"Yes, this is the place."

"Want me to hang around?" 

"No, I've a ride back."  I curtly said as I paid the fare and stepped out of the cab.  A cold blast of wind hit me as the cab pulled away and left me alone outside of the warehouse. 

"John.   _John!_ "  I quickly put my phone back to my ear as I heard Greg calling out, though I was still taking in my surroundings. 

"Yes?"  No other buildings seemed to be around this one.  I wasn't really surprised.  The warehouse itself was entirely boarded up and looked decrepit from where I was standing.  A lone beat-up car was parked near the only door that I could see, considering that there weren't any lights around.

"I said, did you get there already?"

"Yes.  Lone warehouse, one car from what I can see, I doubt Moore has anyone working for him."  I heard Greg grunt and then the sound of keys.  

"Got it.  I'm on my way with backup, okay John?"

"Thanks Greg."

"Don't do anything stupid." 

"I'm not Sherlock."

"I know just-"

"Greg, I'll be fine.  It's him and Alice I'm worried about, okay?"

"Okay."  And then he hung up.  I slipped my phone into my pocket then, reaching behind me to pull out my gun as I started toward the warehouse. 

I shouldn't have been surprised to find the door that I'd seen was unlocked.  If Sherlock had gotten here before me, he'd surely have picked the lock and been inside within a few minutes.  I stared at the doorknob for a moment, gathering myself before I pulled it open and slipped inside.

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this.

Hot air wrapped around me as soon as I was inside, plants of every variety stretching out for as far as I could see.  I froze as the door clicked shut behind me, still trying to take everything in.  A quick glance around told me that there was only one path that lead off into the greenery, and considering Moore's method of killing, I decided that I wasn't going to blunder through the plants.  Having no other choice, I headed off down the only path, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as I went, on the lookout for any signs of Sherlock, Moore, or Alice. 

By the time I'd reached the third split in the path, I was covered with a fine sheen of sweat and I was trying my best to not cuss under my breath.  But everything just looked exactly the same.  Multi-colored flowers danced on the edges of the path, their scents muddling into one as I kept walking, hoping to god that this wasn't some damn maze and that I'd find Alice soon.  Because every minute I didn't see her was another that she was with Moore, being subjected to god-knows what. 

A sharp cry of pain suddenly rang out in the heavy air, breaking the silence and making me freeze. 

_Alice._

It took all my concentration to force myself to not just run into the flowers towards her voice.  That would just alert Moore and most likely end up with me dead.  Instead, I grit my teeth and picked up my pace, following the sound of her cries as I went, taking turns that lead me closer and closer until I came across an opening ahead of me.  I immediately took a step into the shadows of the foliage as the open area came into view, telling myself that it was either hiding in the (possibly) poisoness things or having Moore see me and try to kill me.  The smell of musk and dirt greeted me as I hid, tickling my nose for a moment before I tuned it out and took stock of the clearing ahead. 

The clearing wasn't large, but it was bathed in a bit more light than the rest of the place.  A fountain overflowing with flowers was on the far left, and what looked like another path was on the far right.  It wasn't until I heard Alice cry out again that I forced myself to look toward where the sound was coming from. 

I couldn't stop the soft curses that escaped me as my hands dug into the soil.

Because _bloody hell_ this was worse than what I'd expected to see. 

Alice was in the middle of the clearing, her hands and feet tied to a wooden chair with rope.  Moore stood in front of her with some type of standing tray at his side, his hands full of plants and a digging tool.  From what I could see, the tray was full of little bottles, syringes, and many piles and parts of various plants. 

I didn't want to think about what he had used the plants for. 

Instead, I looked back at Alice, trying to see how she was holding up.  Her shirt had been removed and her pants were torn, her hair disheveled and plastered to her forehead with sweat.  She was bleeding from some type of wound on her one shoulder, but from this distance I couldn't tell what it was.  It was now that I realized that she and Moore were talking, and I tuned into the conversation as I started looking for any other weapons Moore might be carrying. 

"-what was that you sprout?  Were you trying to lie to me?  You know I can't have dishonesty when I'm doing research."  Moore said, his voice a bit sing-songy.   I shivered at the other man it reminded me of. 

"Not lying."  Alice spluttered, spitting out blood onto the ground as she shuddered and shook her head as Moore lifted her chin with the digging tool.

"Come now, surely that one was strong enough?"  Alice glared, tearing her head away in response and Moore's fake smile quickly turned into a scowl.   She cried out and I flinched when he removed the tool from her chin and slammed it into her side.  "Are you _sure_ you don't feel anything?"  He asked again as she sobbed, still shaking her head.

"I said I didn't, you fucking bastard!"  She spat, earning a grin from Moore as he stood up straight and turned to his tray. 

"Well then!  I'll set that aside for now, bit boring with no response, no?  Let's see, what should I turn to next?"  Moore said with a grin as he leaned over his tools, rocking back and forth.  By this point, I couldn't stand to watch him hurt her any longer and I gripped my gun tightly, planning to step out and confront him.  It didn't look like he had a gun, and without an accomplice I should be fine.  Sucking in a breath, I stepped out from the bushes, my gun level in front of me as I glared at Moore.  Alice's eyes widened with shock and relief as she saw me and I gave her a quick look before turning my eyes back to Moore.

He'd turned around as soon as I'd moved, his eyes widening before he started laughing.

Why the hell was he laughing?

I frowned and kept my gun steady as I walked toward him, trying to ignore the continuous laughs that dissolved into an eerie grin. 

"Well John, it's such a pleasure to have you finally show up!  And here I was just wondering how my mixtures would affect a man as opposed to a woman."  I held back my disgust as I replied.

"Like hell that'll happen Moore.  I'm going to kick your sorry ass and then get Alice out of here."

"Mmm. good luck with that, John.  Because I think you're going to realize your mistake in about oh, sixty seconds." 

"John?"  Alice hesitantly asked, her voice full of worry.  But before I could reassure her that Moore hadn't touched me, he backhanded her, his grin gone. 

"I didn't ask you to speak!"

"Get your hands away from her."  I spat out, taking another step toward Moore, irritated when he just gave me a sly grin. 

"John, your arm!"  Alice called out and broke my concentration as Moore spun back toward her, a tool appearing in his hand. 

I needed to stop him.

But I was transfixed by the red lines running down my one arm, droplets of blood seeping from them as I tried to remember when I'd cut myself.  _Oh no._   I glanced back at the place I'd been hiding, seeing only now the large spikes that protruded from the beautiful flowers growing there.  My vision started to spin as I heard Alice cry out in pain. 

I needed to stop Moore. 

My hands weren't cooperating with me though, and a loud clack rang out as something clattered onto the floor.  I realized that I must've dropped my gun.

I needed to pick it up.

I looked up to see Moore laughing at me again, Alice sobbing as the world tilted on its side. 

 _Gun. Get your gun._  Something in my mind chanted against the encroaching darkness, screaming at me to _just move_ as alarm bells went off in the back of my mind.  My fingers twitched as I fell, reaching into empty air before I hit something hard and was pulled into the darkness.


	17. Pain is Relative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that I've made it to this point, but this is the second to last chapter of this fic. I think. Unless I decide to do an epilogue but I highly doubt that. I'll probably just end up doing one-shots of this universe and its future or something to that effect. 
> 
> But anyways. On with the show.

_Pain is relative. Pain is relative. Pain is relative._

I struggled against the rope holding down my arms and legs as I saw John fall, knowing that if Moore tied him up as well, there wouldn't be any hope.

Except...that if John was here, then _surely_ Sherlock was here as well.  A swell of hope rose in me even as Moore grinned and walked over to John, twirling that bloody trowel in his hands. 

"Stay away from him."  I spat out, my throat raw from screaming.  Moore just looked back at me and laughed before he hefted John up and dragged him toward me. 

There was nothing I could do to stop him.

_Pain._

It rolled in waves under my skin, collecting in hot puddles that flared up until I was gasping.  I was trying not to think of it as Moore came closer with John and started to tie him to the back of the chair I was in. 

I couldn't see Moore.

I shuddered involuntarily, my shoulder flaring in pain as I remembered the feel of his teeth digging into my skin, his chest pressed against my back as he-

"Stop moving."  I froze when he spoke.  "Makes it harder to tie these knots, okay?"  He cheerily said as I pictured the grotesque grin he was probably making behind my back. 

_Pain._

I gasped as a roll of it caught me off-guard before it subsided and left me shivering.  Blood was dripping from my forehead and into my eyes, but I couldn't do anything about it.  It hurt to breathe.  It hurt to see.  Everything hurt, but I needed to just stop thinking about it and focus on an escape plan.

 _Pain is relative._  

It was nothing more than a mindset, a concept that I could force away if I calmed down enough.  Time would pass and so would the pain.  I had to keep thinking this, or I knew I'd pass out as well.  I wasn't allowed to pass out, not with John down as well. But _hell,_ everything hurt.  

Moore must have finished tying John up, because I could suddenly see him again as he walked back to where John fell.   As he bent down to pick something up I froze, my eyes widening as I realized that I wasn't going to live.

I'd forgotten about the gun.

Moore picked it up and twirled it in his hand as he walked back over to me, his grin falling away as I paled.  Up until now, escape had seemed unlikely, but possible.  But while Moore had the gun...a sob tore through me and I gasped at the pain in my side that it brought.  I couldn't stop my tears.  They kept falling as I couldn't stop the sobs, couldn't stop the pain, couldn't stop a _bloody murderer_ from killing John and me.

"Hey now, I haven't even tried the next mixture.  You're not allowed to cry just yet."  Moore said as he laid the gun on his tray before picking up a syringe full of god knows what.  I bit my lip to stop my sobs, forcing myself to make eye contact as I tasted blood in my mouth.  I needed to look defiant, like I still wasn't broken.

Was I broken?

 "Leave John out of this."  I managed to say while glaring at him.  He only grinned in response, flicking the needle in his hand as he leaned over me and shook his head.

"Mmmm, not going do that little sprout, I need him to be a test subject too.  Now I can compare, isn't that grand?"  He chuckled to himself as I tried not to recoil and vomit.  I couldn't tear my eyes away from the syringe that he was waving around.   The last one he'd used had turned my left arm numb.  In fact, I still really couldn't move it. 

"Surely you didn't make enough of your mixtures to dose two people though, right?"  I was trying to buy John time.  If only I could keep Moore talking long enough for John to wake up...

"True! I didn't make enough, but I have everything I need here, so that's not a problem.  Now, let me know what you see."  He said as he pressed the syringe into my arm and pushed the plunger down.  It took everything I had to not flinch; it was either sit still or have the needle snap off in my arm. 

"I hope you go to hell."  I spat as he took a step away from me and set the syringe back down.  He said something in response, but it sounded garbled.  I saw his lips moving, and then the world started to melt.  Colors dripped from the ceiling and onto Moore before he himself started to melt into a puddle that slowly morphed around my feet and started to crawl up my legs as spiders invaded the rest of the room. 

_Notrealnotrealnotreal!_

Something was screaming at me from the back of my mind, or was I screaming?

I think I was screaming because the puddle of Moore at my feet had climbed up my legs and was engulfing me and _I couldn't breathe oh god I couldn't breathe I couldn't breathe I just couldn't-_

And then, everything went dark.

I think I was still screaming.

But at least the Moore puddle was gone.  Was I still conscious?  I heard Moore cursing a few feet away.  Yes.  I was still awake, still alive.  But everything was black. 

I couldn't see the spiders.

I'm not sure if that was a good or bad thing.  Probably good.  I think.  Was I still screaming?  My ears seemed to come back to me as I realized that the high-pitched sound of pain I was hearing was somehow coming from my battered lungs.  _Couldn't breathe._   I forced my mouth shut to stop the scream before I sucked in a breath, ignoring the wave of pain that came with expanding my chest. 

Why was it dark?

I needed to feel my eyes, to make sure my eyes were still there but my arms were tied down and my one arm wouldn't work.  It just wouldn't move and I needed to make sure my eyes were there and just-

Blinking. Yes.  I was blinking.  I had eyes.  Wait, was that more cursing?  Clanking?  Moore was making sounds from where he was in front of me, muttering something about a bill and electricity.  Why did my shoulder hurt?

_Painpainpain.  His teeth and fingers on your shoulder and back-_

I think I started screaming again and something solid slammed into my stomach.  I choked, unable to breathe as I heard Moore spit at me.

"I said _shut the hell up_!  I need to switch the lights back on and I don't need to hear you screams until I get back.  I can't rightly enjoy them when I'm away, now can I?"  Lights?  Oh.  The lights had gone off.  My eyes were working.  Hopefully.  Honestly, I was just trying to remember how to breathe.  "So no more screaming, okay?"  I think I nodded in response, anything to get him away from me.  

Thankfully, that must've worked because I heard him walking away.

He was gone.  I needed to get free.  But my arm wasn't working and John was still out-

John. _John!_

"John."  Did I say that out loud?  He could save me from the spiders, from Moore, from the ceiling that I could feel dripping down around me.  I tried to wiggle out of my chair, but something held down my limbs.  My body protested the movement and I heard a groan from behind me.

"John."  I'm pretty sure I spoke aloud that time.  Right?  I heard another groan from behind me. 

"A-Alice?"  John's voice was music to my ears and I let out a sigh in relief.  I'm sure his voice scared away the spiders, thank god.

"I'm right behind you John."  I said, in case his eyes weren't working.  Mine were, but the ceiling might've dripped on him for all I knew.  "Can you see anything?"  I needed to check his eyes.  Eyes are important. 

"No, it's dark in here.  Did the lights go out?" 

"Oh no. Your eyes."

"Alice?"

"He killed your eyes John.  I'm so sorry that I couldn't stop him."  I started crying again.  I hadn't been able to save John's eyes.  What would Sherlock think if I ever saw him again?  How would I be able to look at him knowing that John couldn't?

"What are you going on about...Alice, did he give your something?"  John's voice sounded worried and I nodded in response.  But wait, he couldn't see me.

"Yes."  I paused. Wait, _had_ Moore given me something?  "I think."  I added, my voice unsure as I tried to recall if he had or not.  John cussed and then started moving behind me, moving the chair a bit. 

"Alice, I need you to try and think clearly okay?  I'm going to get us out of here.  Sherlock must've cut the power to draw Moore away so now's our chance." 

Sherlock?

He was here? 

"Okay John.  I'll be your eyes just tell me what to do."  I winced as I tried to turn my head to look back at John.  My shoulder was on fire. 

"My eyes...?  Alice, I can see just fine.  Now just hold the chair still as I try something." 

"Okay."  I was suddenly glad that his eyes worked.  I nodded again, sitting as still as I could as John moved around behind me.  Every time he moved the chair though, a sharp bolt of pain shot through my chest and I think I cried out in response.  Time stretched on and on and I was sure that if John didn't get free soon the spiders would be back and I was about to ask him how he was doing when someone crouched down beside us.

"Need some help?"  I sucked in a breath at the voice, hope flooding through me as things became a bit clearer. 

"Sherlock."  John's voice sounded relieved as I felt Sherlock's fingers running over whatever was holding my arms down.  Rope. Yes.  I was tied to a chair.  "Sherlock, he gave something to Alice and she's not coherent." 

"I'm fine!  It's your eyes we should be worrying about John.  Or about Moore coming back.  Oh god, he's coming back, isn't he?"  I shuddered as I heard a snap from behind me.

"Alice, I can assure you that John's eyesight is just fine.  I'm going to untie you now, okay?"  Sherlock's voice was so soft, smooth like silk and cradling me in warmth.  I think I nodded, but my neck was on fire so I'm not quite sure.  I couldn't see Sherlock, but I felt his hands on my legs and then the press of something cool against the ropes holding me down.  A quick motion and the rope fell away before he moved onto my arms. Another motion, and then I was free.

"There.  John, you'll need to assist her as we leave.  I highly doubt she can stand."  I frowned at that, glaring at where I thought Sherlock was before I pushed myself to my feet. 

And then two things happened at the same time.

As soon as I stood up, the lights turned on and my eyes slammed shut against the sudden onslaught.  Then my legs decided to crumble from under me and I went down.  Before I could hit the ground though, strong arms were catching me, looping around me from behind and pulling me back to my feet.  I gasped in pain and managed to mumble a 'thanks' as John set me on my feet.  My ribs protested the movement and the world kept swaying.  Spiders ran everywhere and Sherlock was giving me a worried look, his hair seeming to float away in clumps from his head.  Sherlock and John shared a look before John nodded and wrapped my numb arm around his shoulder.

"Come on Alice, lean on me.  We'll get you out of here."  I nodded, knowing I could trust them.  Maybe I wouldn't die?  I leaned into John as we started walking away from the pit of hell, Sherlock leading the way.  Thank goodness he was leading the way.  The spiders scattered and the plants started to keep their colors.  The ceiling had stopped melting, but the world was still swaying and so I concentrated on John's steady gait. 

_One step, two step._

I stared at our feet as we left the clearing at a terribly slow pace.  I knew we needed to go faster to escape, but my feet weren't working correctly and breathing was so hard and sometimes I just _couldn't breathe-_

"It's okay Alice.  Take smaller breaths and keep looking at Sherlock."  John's calming voice grounded me, and I listened to him.  Small breaths, eyes on Sherlock.  I relaxed slightly as I was able to breathe again, leaning a bit more into John for support as I again tried to go faster. 

According to Sherlock we were close to the exit when we all heard the sharp click of a cocked gun.  We all froze, and I watched Sherlock slowly turn around to face the sound before John and I followed. 

Moore was staring at us with a snarl on his face, pointing John's gun toward Sherlock.  John stiffened under my arm at the sight and I felt a cold wash of fear go through me. 

"Did you really think you could steal my test subjects?"  Moore snapped, waving the gun around as he did so.

"I'm not stealing.  They were never yours in the first place."  Sherlock replied as John gently slipped my arm from his shoulder and told me in a whisper to stand on my own for a few moments.  I could do that for him.

"They're not yours either."  John took the smallest step away from me at Moore's response. 

"John's _mine._ "  Sherlock all but snarled, his fists clenched at his sides.  I blinked in surprise at the sudden rush of colors that surrounded him.  It was beautiful.  John froze, his eyes darting over to look at Sherlock for a split second.  Moore chuckled at Sherlock, forgetting to look at me or John as he got too into the conversation. 

"Is he really now?  I know for a fact that you two haven't even done _anything_ yet.  That's no claim, and honestly, it doesn't matter in the long run when I can use both of you as subjects.  But then again, John is fairly good looking.  The things I could do to him-"

"Now!"  Sherlock yelled, cutting Moore off as John dove at the man, tackling him at the waist and sending him to the ground.  At the same time, Sherlock dove toward me as the gun went off before it was knocked out of Moore's hand.  My ears were screaming as Sherlock stood in front of me and John grappled with Moore.  Another moment and Sherlock lunged forward, moving to help John as my mind scrambled to figure out what I was supposed to do. I needed to help, didn't I? 

The gun.

I had heard it clatter to the ground, but a quick look at the three men told me that none of them had it.  I glanced around quickly, fighting against the spinning world until I saw it lying not too far from the men.  I needed to get that gun. 

_Dad? Were we expecting someone?_

_No, why?_

I was screaming the nightmare away from my mind as I lunged for the gun and grasped it in my hands.  The cold metal bit into my hands as I gripped it tightly and stopped screaming long enough to stand back up and face the trio of men.

_Two men, one tall one short-_

There were _three_ men staring at me, this wasn't my nightmare.  This was reality. 

Wasn't it?

"Alice, put the gun down."  John called out to me.  They had all frozen, John and Moore tangled up on the ground with Sherlock hovering over them.  But I couldn't put the gun down.  That was how everyone died in movies.  They hesitated because they didn't want to shoot or they put the gun down. 

I wasn't going to hesitate.

"Alice-"  Sherlock tried to stop me, his voice a warning.

I took a breath, then fired. 

Moore howled in pain as John jumped away from him, his eyes full of shock as he looked at me. Sherlock was already at my side, murmuring something into my ear as he took the gun from my limp hand.  I was staring at Moore, his one leg a bloodied mess as I couldn't stop thinking that I'd actually shot him.  I'd actually shot him and now he couldn't stand and that meant that I was going to be safe.

I was going to be _safe._

John was at my side in a moment when my legs gave out and I broke down into gasping sobs of pure joy.  I was going to _live._ I clung to him as Sherlock kept talking, his words meshing together into a mess I couldn't understand, but I didn't mind.  It was oddly calming, and before I knew it I was hearing sirens and slamming doors.  Cold air ghosted over my bare skin and I shivered, before something heavy covered my shoulders.

When had we gotten outside?

I blinked, confused by the night sky full of red and blue lights as people swarmed around the three of us and went into the building.  I tried to warn them about the spiders and pools of melted ceiling, but John just soothingly rubbed my arm as Sherlock stood beside him, protecting him from the rush of people.

A man stopped in front of Sherlock, looking relieved and talking fast before Sherlock motioned to me and John spoke as well.  They were speaking too fast though, their words flying away from my ears.  I tried to tell them I wasn't too bad, but all I got was a group of worried looks before the man, _Lestrade_ , ushered us off toward the flashing lights. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting in the back of an ambulance, answering questions for the paramedics as they looked me over and prepared to take me to the hospital.  I think I was wearing Sherlock's jacket, though I've no idea when he gave it to me.  It was warm, and I hugged it around me, trying to fight off the chill.  The world was fading in and out, and I suddenly realized that Sherlock and John weren't with me anymore.  I panicked for a moment before I caught sight of them, sitting together in the back of an ambulance not too far from mine. 

They were sitting side by side, leaning into one another as they both seemed to sigh.  I watched as they gripped each other's hand before John tugged on Sherlock's shirt.  Another moment and John had pulled Sherlock into a kiss that lasted long enough that I didn't see the end because the paramedics had strapped me in and lifted me into the vehicle. 

And as the ambulance took me away, I couldn't stop grinning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEY FINALLY KISS.


	18. The Many Meanings of the Same Word

Someone loudly cleared their throat.

I jumped, and quickly pulled back from Sherlock, flushing as I turned to see Lestrade standing in front of us, politely averting his eyes.

I had been _kissing_ Sherlock.

I had been kissing _Sherlock._

Thankfully, Sherlock recovered faster than I did and gave Lestrade a look.

"Is there something you need?  You know we will stop by the station tomorrow to give our statements as per usual."  Sherlock said as he wound his hand around mine.  Surprised, I glanced down at our hands quickly before looking back at Lestrade as he sighed, red and blue lights bouncing off his coat.

"You're lucky I've learned to take John's calls seriously.  How many times do I have to tell you to not run off by yourself?"

"I didn't run off by myself."  I frowned, letting go of Sherlock's hand to stare him down.

"You left me behind!"  Sherlock grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"I left with the knowledge that you would soon be following me.  Honestly John, between you and Lestrade, running off myself isn't worth the earful I always end up receiving."  I blushed at that, a smile working its way onto my face before we looked back at Lestrade, who was grinning too.

"What?" I asked, suddenly worried that I had missed something.  Lestrade started laughing and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Oh nothing, just seems like some congratulations are in order."  He grinned wider as my eyes widened and Sherlock let out a small scoff.

"Relatively speaking, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  By my latest theories John would have-"

"Don't ruin it Sherlock.  I'm glad you two seem to have worked things out."

"But we really didn't-" I started to protest, but Lestrade cut me off.

"John, if you try to tell me that you don't have feelings for this idiot I will honestly make this ambulance take you to the hospital.  Sherlock is _smiling_ ,-"

"Wait, I am not-"

"-and that's enough of a sign if there ever was one.  Also, this means that I won the ongoing bet."  Lestrade finished with a sly grin, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looked toward Sally on the other side of the lot.  "I'll see you two in the morning, okay?  Until then, go home and get some rest." 

He then turned around and strode over to Sally, leaving Sherlock and I behind.  My thoughts flew around in my mind as I tried to take in what had just happened.  A paramedic suddenly came into view, and Sherlock waved the man away as he jumped off the back of the vehicle. 

"Coming, John?"  He asked as he looked at me, his hand held out, waiting.  _I had kissed Sherlock._ I quickly took the offered hand, enjoying how it enveloped mine in warmth.  _And he kissed me back._   I tried not to think about how soft his lips had been as he tugged me off the ambulance and pulled out his phone.  He rapid-dialed a number and spoke quickly before slipping his phone back into his pocket.  I frowned in confusion.

"Who did you call?"

"No one important.  Just acquired us a ride."  He turned toward the entrance of the lot and shivered as a small gust of wind blew around us.  Where was his...? 

Right.

Alice.

He had given her his jacket, hadn't he?  I'd give him mine, but I knew that it wouldn't fit him and so I took a small chance and pulled myself closer to him, pressing my side against his.  He stiffened in surprise and then relaxed, looking down at me.  Instead of breaking the silence, I gripped his hand tighter, tethering him to my side as I thought about Alice. 

If we hadn't gotten there when we had...I didn't want to think about what Moore might have done. 

"She'll be alright John."  Sherlock suddenly said.  I didn't question how he knew what I was thinking about.

"Can you really say that?"  I looked up at him, staring until he looked away.

"She'll be _physically_ alright."

"Because that makes me feel better."

"I didn't say it would."  I sighed and let it go, deciding that I'd visit her tomorrow after going to the station.  It was the least I could do. 

"And here's our ride."  A black car pulled into the lot as Sherlock spoke, looking like one of the cars that Mycroft used to frequently abduct me for questioning.  I narrowed my eyes as Anthea stepped out and opened a door, but Sherlock was dragging me along toward it.  Deciding that I should be grateful we wouldn't have to pay for a cab, I followed him into the car as Anthea shut the door behind us. 

Thankfully, it was warm inside the car, and I felt a small thrill of nerves bubble up inside me when Sherlock pulled me into the middle seat so that I was right beside him.  He let go of my hand for a moment so we could put on our seatbelts before he found my hand again and held it tight as he leaned against the window. 

It was only as the car was purring into motion that I remembered that I hadn't brought my sig back with me.  I panicked for a moment, about to ask Sherlock about it when he spoke.

"John, as much as I'd like to give _that_ back to you right now, it might be best to wait until we're back at the flat."

"Yes well, I just er..."  I let my voice trail off, cursing at myself for almost forcing Anthea's hand.   _Nice job there John._ As I thought about what he'd said though, another thought came to mind and I smirked, tugging on his hand until he looked at me.

"If you won't give _that_ to me right now, then this should be fine, right?"  I said before I gently pulled him down to me and pressed my lips against his.  He made a small noise of surprise before he leaned into the kiss, as if he'd done this hundreds of times.  _I_ even felt like we'd done this hundreds of times.  Or that we should at least make it our goal.

_Beautiful._

_Chemicals and fruity shampoo._

I couldn't stop exploring the way he felt, the way his lips molded against mine and even the ways they didn't.  At some point my hands ended up in his hair and I ended up mostly in his lap, but I didn't care. 

For now, this was all I needed.

How could I have been so stupid?  To not see this before?

Then, all too suddenly, Sherlock was pulling away.

"John."  I rested my head on his chin, trying to calm my heavy breathing as I pointedly didn't think about what I'd like to do to him in Mycroft's car. 

Wait. Where had _that_ thought come from?

"John.  As enjoyable as this is, Anthea is going to evict us if we don't get out."  I blinked, not understanding.  Sherlock gave me a soft smile and pushed me back.  I protested the space.

"We're home.  Come on."  He said as he pulled me from the car with a nod to Anthea.  Another moment and we were at our flat's door, Sherlock unlocking it quickly before pulling me inside.  I shut the door behind us and followed after Sherlock as he started up the stairs, noting that as nice as those pants looked on him, I suddenly wanted to see what he looked like without them.  I blushed at that thought, and then stepped into our flat behind him. 

I hung my jacket and shut our door before I turned to look at Sherlock, silence stretching out between us as I didn't know what to say.  Should we talk about the kissing?  Did we need to?  Should we talk about how I found myself wanting more but _oh god_ this was _Sherlock_ I was thinking lewd thoughts about and when had that started happening and what in the world should we do now or should I just kiss him again?

"Sherlock I-"

"John I-"

We both froze as we spoke at the same time.  I snorted, laughing at the mishap before I waved him ahead to go first.  He cleared his throat, looking away before he spoke.

"John in...light of recent events may I suggest that we continue our sleeping arrangements?"

"I would very much like that."  I said before relaxing a bit, the awkwardness leaving the room as I went upstairs, knowing he would follow. 

And follow he did.

He gave me back my sig and then we both shucked our clothes like we had done every night for the last week.  I slipped into my side of the bed, and Sherlock carefully slipped into the opposite side, his back to me.  I frowned at the distance he kept between us.  _This would not do._ If I was going to give in to what I was feeling for him then it shouldn't just be me.  I inched across the bed and wrapped my arm around his side, shivering a bit at the odd feeling of muscles under my hand.  I was used to feeling a soft curve and a smooth stomach.  But Sherlock's was anything but smooth, and he froze at my touch.

"John?" He hesitantly asked, turning a bit to look back at me.  I suddenly couldn't look at him and so I buried my face against his back, mumbling a response.

"Yes?"

"Why the...sudden proximity?  I figured that with all things considered, you would want your space to sort things out."  I snorted into his back. 

"You're going to end up sprawled over the bed by morning anyways.  I might as well try to keep you on your half.  Besides, it's warmer like this.  Now go to sleep."  I said, mostly to him and more so to the persistent part of me that was telling me that _no_ I did _not_ want to fall asleep right now.  Sherlock didn't respond for a few minutes, and I thought he'd fallen asleep until he softly replied.

"Goodnight then, John."

"Goodnight Sherlock."

And with that, we fell asleep.

I couldn't say that I was surprised when I woke up the next morning to an empty bed.  It would have been nice, but weird if Sherlock had managed to sleep an entire night.  Instead, I took the alone time to think about everything that'd happened the day before, wondering what would happen if I went downstairs and kissed him before I made tea. 

That train of thought lead to others though, and a quick shower ended up happening before I made it into the kitchen to find Sherlock eating a piece of toast with two cups of tea on the (mostly) not-clean kitchen table. 

"You're eating?"  I couldn't help but ask as I picked up the cup that wasn't in front of him, sniffing it to check to make sure that yes, it was tea, before I took a sip.  Just how I liked it. 

"Only because we'll be out most of the day and thus unlikely to be stopping for lunch, and my body would start to lag behind just after two in the afternoon and-"  I stopped him with a laugh.

"You're eating.  That's all that matters.  Ta for the tea, by the way." 

"It was nothing.  But you should hurry, Lestrade has already phoned you twice and is expecting us at the station within the hour.  I narrowed my eyes, deciding not to ask how he'd known that.  Instead, I gave into the sudden impulse I had and walked over to him, kissing him lightly on the cheek before I headed back upstairs.  _Please be okay with this._   I listened for any sign that he wasn't okay with small bits of affection, but when I glanced backwards to check I only caught the sight of a small smile as he stirred his tea. 

The next few hours passed in a blur of taxi rides, talking to Lestrade, and heading to the hospital where he said they'd taken Alice.  After a good fifteen minutes spent trying to find out which room she was in, Sherlock promptly slipped behind a desk for a minute before he came back and set off down a hall, calling for me to follow. 

When we reached her room though, dread washed through me and my stomach twisted.  Outside the room she was in was an elderly woman crying into her hands.  Had something happened?  Had Moore given her more poison than her body could take?  Was she d-

"John, she's alright."  Sherlock grounded me as he put a hand on my shoulder. 

"How do you know that?"

"That's obviously her mother.  Same facial structure and skin color, among other things.  She's an incessant worrier, and is just overreacting.  Why else do you think Alice never told her family about what was happening?" 

"Oh. Well."  I reached for something to say, caught between feeling some responsibility to calm the woman down while also wanting to go see Alice.  Sherlock gave me a quick smile before he nudged me toward the door. 

"Go see her.  I'd rather not see either of you fumble around relieved conversation and possible tears.  I'll stay out here."  He said before he sat down beside Alice's mother, looking straight at her and proclaiming that she stop crying right now because her daughter was fine and could be a lot worse, like the patient next door.  I stepped into Alice's room as he started to give another example. 

I was surprised to see a man in the room when I entered.  Alice was seated on a bed, propped up against a few pillows and covered in various bandages.  There was a particularly large one on her shoulder, and both her and the man looked at me when I entered.  Alice's face lit up, and the man's did not. 

He was taller than me, but looked to be around Alice's height.  He had dark, curly hair and I realized who he was when I looked at his eyes. 

"You have a brother?"  I asked Alice as I stepped closer.  She laughed, wincing a moment later as the man flinched and leaned over her. 

"James, I'm fine."

"But sis-"

"I'm _fine._   And John, yes, this is my brother.  James, this is John.  Wait, is Sherlock not with you?"  I shook James's hand before I chuckled, pointing at the door. 

"He's here, just prefers to not be around emotions.  I think he's talking to your mother?"  Alice's face grew horrified -as did her brother's- as I spoke. 

"Oh no.  James, please, go save him from her."

"You don't need to tell me twice sis, if he's anything like you told me, he doesn't stand a chance of dealing with her."  He said before he kissed her forehead and then stepped into the hall.  Alice sighed in relief and then looked up at me as I walked to her side and sat in the chair by her bed. 

"Sorry about that.  My mother is a basket of worry, crying over nothing.  I told her I would be fine but _no_ the world ended and you'd think I was actually dying or something."  Alice scoffed, waving her hand on the bed before she relaxed and then frowned, looking down at her hands.

"Alice?"

"I don't think I got to thank you.  Or Sherlock.  For what you two did."  I shook my head, fighting the urge to just comfort her.  But I had been in this situation before, except no one had come to my bedside and no one had told me that I wasn't to blame. 

"You're welcome, Alice.  But you don't need to thank us.  It wasn't your fault that some asshole decided to target you.  Sherlock was just doing his job and I was just making sure he didn't get himself killed.  Alice grinned at that for a moment before it fell off her face again. 

"He's...going to be locked up for the rest of his life, right?"  I almost lied and assured her without pause.

But I couldn't do that to her.

"Sherlock and I, as well as Lestrade, gathered enough evidence to have a very strong case against him.  Not to mention the evidence you would bring if you're up for acting as a witness."

"I will do anything to see him rot."

"Then yeah, he'll rot in jail."  We both grinned at that, before she spoke again. 

"I'll be okay John."  I blinked in surprise.  What did she mean?  She saw my confusion and slowly fiddled with the sheets around her. 

"I'm trying to tell as many people that as I can so they'll know to help when I'm not able to keep myself up.  For when I am in fact, very much _not_ okay."  I gently took her hand away from messing with the sheets as I saw her face twist in pain, no doubt as she thought about everything that happened yesterday.  _Fuck._

"Alice...whatever happens, we're still friends, okay?  I've got my own bad days as I'm sure you've figured out and you'll have your own.  Hopefully there will be more good ones than bad, but don't hesitate to call if you need to talk."  Her hand gripped mine tightly, her fingers shaking ever so slightly. 

"The offer goes both ways then."  She said before looking up at me, determined.  "The offer goes both ways because god knows we both need friends outside of our work.  No one else would understand, either."

"Understood.  Both ways."  I laughed softly before trying to let go of her hand, only to find my hand caught in her tight grip.  "Er...Alice?" I wiggled my fingers and she gasped, flushing as she apologized and went back to gripping the sheets.  We ended up chatting for a few more minutes before I stood, feeling like I should go back to Sherlock and whatever lay ahead.  As I stood though, Alice spoke, stopping me by the door. 

"Hey, um...this might sound a bit random but, did you and Sherlock..." She paused, looking uncomfortable as she searched for her words.  "Did you two..."  She coughed into her hand and then seemed to give up trying to be shy about it. 

"Did you two kiss last night?  In the ambulance?"  I blushed, unable to respond for a moment before I smiled and nodded, scratching the back of my neck. 

"Yeah, we did.  You saw that?"  She let out a small laugh, sounding relieved. 

"Oh thank God that actually happened.  Between my hallucinations and the drugs they're giving me now, everything from last night is a bit unclear when it comes to what actually happened or not.  I guess I should be saying congrats then?"  I grinned, suddenly enjoying for once the idea that someone else had thought Sherlock and I would work as a couple. 

"Congrats seem to be in order.  Tell me you're not in on the bet?"

"There was a bet?"  Her eyes widened as I laughed. 

"At the station, ya.  Lestrade won, by the way."

"Well then.  And Sherlock?  He's okay with...whatever you two are now?"

"I've no idea exactly what 'we' are, but I believe he's okay with it.  I am too, I think.  I figure we'll both be finding out soon."  I felt lighthearted and so, so happy saying that.  Alice smiled and waved me off, telling me to send her brother back in as I left.

"Oh and John, one more thing."  I paused with my hand on the door handle, looking back at her. 

Her grin was terrifyingly mischievous.

"You better invite me to the wedding."  I felt my face flush before I tried to stutter a response back, and failed.  Alice just laughed, and I quickly escaped after pulling the door open.  _Oh my god._

Alice's brother went in as I stepped away from the door, and her mother seemed to have stopped crying and was pacing up and down the hall.  Sherlock stood as I exited, which only made me lose whatever I had managed to come up with saying as Alice's words rung in my mind. 

"Everything okay?"  I sucked in a calming breath, willing the blood away from my face as Sherlock brushed off his jacket. 

When had he gotten that back?

The question went unanswered as I nodded.

"Well then, are you ready to go?  Lestrade texted me with details for another case that seem quite interesting.  He wants us at the scene as soon as we can get there."  He finished and then glanced at the floor for a moment as I stepped up beside him.

"That sounds great."  I smiled as he gently took hold of my hand.  He looked back at me as I gripped his hand back.   

"Is this okay?"  He hesitantly asked, his grip tightening ever so slightly.  I returned the gesture. 

"This is very much okay." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, is the end.
> 
> Wow. I never thought that I'd manage to finish this fic that I've been plotting about ever since I spent three hours sitting on the floor in my dorm's hallway, talking to my neighbor about it. Just over a year later, and it's complete and it's the best feeling ever. 
> 
> Is this the last you'll see of this particular universe and its particular Sherlock and John? 
> 
> Probably not. C: There might not be another long fic for it, but I do have things plotted and written for post season-two stuff (since this fic takes place in the middle of season two). So stay tuned for that, though I'm going to be starting a new fic on Gravity Falls first. The idea has been simmering in my mind for months now, but I couldn't feed it until this fic was finished first. 
> 
> So until next time, I hope you enjoyed reading.


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